


Not Ideal

by Asher_Ephraim



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Consent Issues, Detox, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugged Sex, Established Relationship, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren is Not Nice, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Medical Jargon, Medicinal Drug Use, Misuse of the Force, Overdosing, Panic Attacks, Poor Dopheld Mitaka, Protective Hux, Psychological Trauma, Self-Harm, Sexual Assault, Sexual Violence, Snoke Being a Dick, Suicidal Thoughts, That's Not How The Force Works, Therapy, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2018-10-30 21:04:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 17
Words: 33,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10884912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asher_Ephraim/pseuds/Asher_Ephraim
Summary: After Ren assaults Lt. Mitaka, Dopheld and Hux try to keep everything together.





	1. Third Cycle

**2025.**  

 _Lt Unamo: Sir, Lt Mitaka is in Medical._  
_Gen Hux: What happened?_  
_Lt Unamo: He was attacked. I was informed that he’s conscious and stable._

Hux taps his fingers against the desktop as he considers his response. Knowing Unamo, she would already have shared additional information if she had it.

        _Hux: Thank you, Lieutenant._

         He stands up slowly, gathers his greatcoat, and cancels the rest of his appointments for the day. On his way to the medical wing, the general attempts to puzzle out who would attack Mitaka and why. His adjutant is imminently capable, pleasant, and inoffensive. Hux has the nagging suspicion that any harm done to his lieutenant was in fact a method of assaulting _him_ by proxy. Unless it was an act of simple bullying—potentially motivated by homophobia. Either way, there’s no question that whoever is at fault will face immediate disciplinary action, either in the form of dishonourable discharge or reconditioning.  
         As he stands in front of the main entrance to the emergency department, Hux’s thoughts turn back to the immediate present. Unamo had said Mitaka was stable, but the general knows that status isn’t a detailed condition. All it means is that his adjutant is not in immediate danger of death. He hopes against hope that the situation isn’t anywhere near that. Breathing deeply, he enters.  
         At the sight of Hux striding into the waiting room, a medic snaps to immediate attention and salutes. “General.”  
         “I’m here to see Lieutenant Mitaka, if I may.”  
         “Of course, sir. He authorised you to visit him at any time.”  
         “What happened?”  
         The medic grimaces. “I should really page the attending physician, sir.”  
         Hux fixes the man with his most authoritative stare. “Tell me what you can. Unless Mitaka didn’t authorise the release of his records.”  
         “No, he did, and in full, sir.” The medic gulps. “He paged EMS around 1830, saying he’d been attacked in a control room. When they arrived, he was quite poorly.”  
         The general repeats himself in a flat tone. “What happened?”  
         “Well. He’d been raped, sir.”  
         Hux’s vision greys out for a sickening second. “Raped.” He says it as though he’s never strung these particular letters together, like he doesn’t know what the word means.  
         “Yes, sir.” With obvious relief in his voice, the medic calls out to an approaching man in scrubs and a white coat. “Doctor Taisabi, General Hux is here to see Lieutenant Mitaka. I was just giving him a little background…”  
         “Yes. General. Good of you to come.” They shake hands, and Taisabi gestures for Hux to walk with him down the hall. “He was sexually assaulted earlier this evening. He’s conscious, stable, and his prognosis is good. I expect him to make a full physical recovery within about a month.”  
         “A month,” Hux repeats. A month seems a terribly long time.  
         “It was a violent attack. Two fractured ribs, multiple contusions. A possible concussion. Strangulation bruises around his neck. We’ve stopped the external bleeding, but he did sustain significant trauma to the rectum and distal colon. I’m not a forensic pathologist, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find he’d been assaulted with a foreign object as well as… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t speculate.”  
         Hux shakes his head. “I don’t know what to think about any of this, Doctor.”  
         “Well, at least the preliminary tests came back clear of all bloodborne pathogens. He’ll need repeat screening in two weeks to check for antibody development. If you’re in a sexual relationship with him, I’d recommend exercising an abundance of caution until further notice.”    
         Now it’s Hux’s turn to nod. “Yes, Doctor, I know.” Noting Taisabi’s look, he explains, “I’m a general, not a monk. I am aware of protocol for STI testing and prevention. Anyway, other than physically, how is he now?”  
         “One of our psychiatrists met with him shortly after his admission. She said he seemed to be in shock, so it’s difficult to tell. It’s very early yet.” He checks his tablet. “At last check, he was awake and alert. But we did administer an anxiolytic and narcotic analgesic, so he’s likely a little sedated.”

 

**1851.**

He’s certain he should be in pain, but a flood of adrenalin is preventing him from noticing. EMS arrived very quickly; he’s impressed. They’re supremely professional, although he registered the looks on their faces when they opened the door to find him halfway undressed and collapsed against a console on the floor.  
         “Name, rank, and serial number?”  
         “Dopheld Mitaka, Lieutenant First Class, Cresh-91-842-68.”  
         “Do you know where you are?”  
         “Comm room 31.”  
         “And the day and time?”  
         “Third cycle, approximately 1845.” Mitaka closes his eyes briefly and tells himself the medic is scribbling down, _‘A & O x 3.’_ Alert and oriented to person, place, and time. For all the good it’s doing him, lying on the floor.  
         “How is your pain, on a scale of naught to ten?”  
         “Three.” His chest is beginning to ache dully.  
         The handheld scanner beeps, notifying the team that it’s finished a preliminary reading. One of the medics recites its findings aloud: fractures at ribs 4 and 5, both displaced; loss of the right upper canine; multiple contusions; recommendation for a full-body CT to rule out internal haemorrhage.  
          _Great,_ he thinks, focus narrowed to the missing tooth. _Now I’ll look like I’m from the Unknown Regions. Toothless and miserable. I’ll fit right in back home._  
         He doesn’t even remember Ren hitting him in the face. Maybe his mouth made contact with part of the console when the knight pushed him down onto it.  
         Why had he even struggled? Looking back, he’s sure that decision just made it worse for him. Even without the Force working against him, Mitaka had exactly no chance of overpowering or even escaping Lord Ren. As he’d discovered less than an hour ago, the knight’s robes hid a prodigious amount of muscle mass. As well as… No. Not the time to dwell on that. Never would be a good time to dwell on that.  
         Still, something in him had insisted on fighting, perhaps hoping that if he demonstrated how much he hadn’t wanted it, Ren would have stopped. No such luck, of course.  
         “Lieutenant?”  
         He realises the medic has asked him a question. “I’m sorry?”  
         “Did your attacker wear a condom?”  
         “Oh. No.”  
         “In that case, we’d like to take a sample.”  
         Sample? Yes. Of course. He nods. “Go ahead.”  
         “Please turn over onto your stomach. I apologise, sir, as this may be uncomfortable. Lubricant compromises the analysis.”  
         Mitaka rolls his eyes at the warning, even though no one can see it as he’s facing the floor. He barely even notices the swab as it enters him. He’s rather numb in that area, which is certainly for the best. As the medic removes the swab as gently as possible, Mitaka turns his head to watch.  
         “It’s best if you don’t look, Lieutenant.”  
         At this instruction, he can’t help but look, stunned as he is. But he has trouble understanding what he’s seeing for a long moment. The tip of the stick is bright red. He wonders why a manufacturer would choose to dye the cotton on a rape kit swab.  
         Blinking heavily, he realises it’s coated with blood.  
_He made me bleed._  
         “Oh shit,” he mumbles aloud. Somehow everything seems much more real now. He begins to desperately repeat himself. “Oh shit oh shit oh shit…” The words choke off as he starts crying.  
         The female medic puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, turns to the man beside her, and suggests, “Lorazepam?”  
         “Lieutenant Mitaka, we’re going to give you something to help calm you down.”  
         He nods, accepting this news. Today’s theme appears to be things happening to him. The inside of his elbow is swabbed and a peripheral line is placed.  
         “Pushing one milligram of lorazepam.”  
         He stares at the ceiling and tells himself to breathe. The team shifts him onto a stretcher and transports him to Medical.

 

**1938.**

He must have drifted off because he comes to in a private hospital room, wearing an exam gown underneath the bedsheet. The thought that someone—even an orderly or nursing assistant, a trained medical professional—undressed him while he was unconscious makes him feel distinctly nauseated. _It could have been Ren for all I know._  
         Shortly after his awakening, a nurse appears to check in on him. After placing his pain at an eight, he receives a slug of morphine. He pokes at the hole in his mouth with the tip of his tongue. He waits for things to make sense, for events to file themselves away in the proper order. Within an hour, there’s another knock on his door.  
         “Come in.” He has never really understood the way medical personnel announce themselves this way, as though they’re visiting his quarters. As though he could tell them to go away. _I’m not receiving visitors at the moment. Please leave your calling card and try again tomorrow._  
         A small woman in her forties enters. “Good evening. I’m Doctor Kamilla Cetin. May I please have your name, rank, and serial number?”  
         He’s getting sick of this by now, but he rattles off the requested information. She’s only doing her job, making sure that she’s talking to the right person and that he knows who he is.  
         “Thank you. I’m one of the staff psychiatrists. I’m here to talk with you about what happened today.”  
         Mitaka gestures to the rolling chair in the corner. “Please have a seat, Dr Cetin.”  
         “I apologise in advance for the type of questions I’ll be asking. I know this is a difficult topic. If you feel unable to answer any of them, just let me know and we can revisit that particular item at a later point.”  
         Mitaka shrugs, then winces at the resulting stabbing pain in his chest. He makes a note to avoid further sudden movements. “I can’t imagine this will be much easier later.”  
         Seeing his grimace, she begins with, “First, though, how is your pain on a scale of naught to ten?”  
         “About a six, but it’s tolerable. I was told they aren’t comfortable increasing the morphine at this point. I’m guessing it’s because it decreases respiratory drive and I’m supposed to be breathing deeply with the rib fractures.”  
         “Do you have a medical background, Lieutenant?”  
         “I was trained as a medic during my years at the Academy. As a supplemental track.”  
         She nods. “Have you ever been sexually assaulted before?”  
         “Just an attempt. It never got this far.”  
         “When was that?”  
         “I was eighteen. Just entered the Academy at Arkanis. Off-campus party. Older student, an acquaintance of a friend.”  
         “What happened?”  
         The incident seems very distant now, a function of time and possibly a haze of medications. “He shoved me against the wall and tried to remove my trousers. I kneed him in the groin, stomped on his foot, and left.”  
         “Did you file charges?”  
         “No. I believed I made my point, and he steered clear of me after that.” Thinking on it now, he probably should have submitted an official report. He likely wasn’t the only person that arsehole had attacked during his school years. The realisation makes his stomach twist in guilt. Perhaps Dopheld could have helped prevent even a single assault. Surely that would have outweighed his discomfort about discussing the event.  
         “Walk me through this evening, as best you can.”  
         “My shift ended at 1700. But I went to the comm room to review the log entries from Lothal. I have a report to deliver in two days and I wanted to review the primary documentation.” Who’s going to give his presentation now? Closing his eyes, he continues. “Around 1730, someone else entered the room. He locked the door behind him. Held me down, stripped me below the waist. Then pushed me over a console and… well, raped me.” It really is frustrating. The scenario was very similar to a fantasy he’s had for a while, of Hux pulling him into a side room while they’re both on duty and just taking what he wants from his lieutenant. Shuddering mentally, Dopheld can’t imagine getting off on that thought again. At least it wasn’t something Hux had been interested in; the general considered it unprofessional.  
         “Did he wear a condom?”  
         “No.”  
         “Did he ejaculate inside you?”  
         Miserably, Mitaka nods. “Twice. Bastard. I’ve never had a boyfriend who could go again that quickly.” He chuckles, then frowns. “Sorry for the inappropriate laughter. I think I may be slightly high.”  
         The counsellor smiles indulgently. “That’s quite alright. Nothing you’re feeling is inappropriate.”  
          He appreciates this licence to laugh. “Thank you. But yes, he came in me. So I assume you’re running blood tests?”  
         “All clear, preliminarily.”  
         He hadn’t really been concerned about that; for some reason he guesses that the Force affords Ren some sort of venereal protection. “Well, that’s something. Because I bled.” It would’ve been the perfect opportunity to acquire an infection. Although the medical risk isn’t what makes him sick about the exchange of fluids that had occurred. Rather, it’s the perversion of what that act has always meant to him. He can count on one hand the men with whom he’s foregone condoms. All committed, monogamous partners. Until today.  
         Vikram. Tjorbin. Armitage. And now bloody Kylo Ren is on that list, his name tacked onto those of the two boys and one man he’s loved.  
         “Would you mind telling me how he treated you?”  
         “He didn’t use lubricant. Just spat into his glove.” Holding fingertips up to his temples, he sighs. “And he was huge. Probably the biggest I’ve taken. Of course, anything feels larger when you’re not prepared for it.”  
         “How did you sustain your injuries?”  
         “I struggled. Like an idiot.”  
         “Did you recognise your assailant?”  
         “Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate.  
         “Do you know his name?”  
         “Of course. I doubt it will matter. He’s hurt me before—not like this—and nothing happened.” Sighing deeply, drawing up what little courage remains, he says it aloud. “Kylo Ren.”  
         There’s a palpable chill in the air. Cetin rolls her chair back as though struck. “Lord Ren.”  
         Dopheld finds a sudden fascination with examining his peripheral line. “Yes. He choked me after Jakku. General Hux lodged a formal complaint, but nothing came of it. We have our orders to avoid him as best we can, for our own safety.” Snorting, he adds, “Not that I thought it would come to this sort of thing.”  
         “No,” she agrees. “Not to downplay the gravity of your earlier attack, but sexual assault is a far more severe offence. The Order is committed to prosecuting cases like these to the fullest extent—”  
         “You’ll have to pardon me if I don’t expect much. Lord Ren operates in an odd sort of grey area between the military hierarchy and the Supreme Leader’s service.”  
         Shaking her head, she continues, “Surely Supreme Leader Snoke has no reason to support the flaunting of the rule of law.”  
         Keeping in mind his earlier discomfort, Dopheld shrugs very slightly and only with his left shoulder. “We’ll have to see how it plays out.”  
         The doctor changes the subject. “Is there anyone you would like to come visit you while you’re here?”  
         His stomach flips at the first thought of Hux. Yes, he wants to see him, but no, he doesn’t want Hux to see him like this. Not that he can avoid it. Surely the general will come tearing down here as quickly as he can once he hears the news. “Yes. My… my boyfriend.” Even after a year and a half, the word still sounds bizarre when applied to Armitage Hux.  
         “And his name?”  
          _Here we go._ “Armitage Hux.”  
         Dr Cetin does an immediate double take. “General Armitage Hux.”  
         “That is correct.” His mouth twitches as it considers a taking the shape of a smile; he’s always amused at others’ reactions when they find out about his relationship. He’s proud of landing Hux, still has difficulty believing he’s done it. “Also, please make a note that he may have full access to my records and discuss my case with my providers. My record should already indicate that he’s my official health care proxy.”  
         She scrolls through a few pages on her tablet. “Oh, yes. I see that. How long have you two been together?”  
         “About eighteen months.”  
         “How is your relationship?”  
         “Good. Fantastic, actually.” He smiles fully now, but it soon fades. “This is going to throw something of a hydrospanner in the works, though.”  
         “Yes,” Dr Cetin agrees.

 

**2025.**

“Dopheld.” Hux closes the door behind him and comes to stand approximately a metre from the foot of the bed.  
         Mitaka flashes a grin, showing the vacant space where an upper canine used to be. “Armitage.”  
         Hux can’t help but ask, “How are you?”  
         The smile vanishes. “Ah. Not particularly well. It turns out that I was raped today.”  
         “I’m so bloody sorry.” That sort of thing shouldn’t happen on his ship at all, and it sure as shit shouldn’t happen to Dopheld Mitaka. If it’s wrong of Hux to care more about a handful of people in this galaxy than entire populations, that fact doesn’t bother him.  
         The lieutenant frowns and turns his head to the wall. “Yes. Well.”  
         “Do you know who it was?”  
         Dopheld lets out a humourless laugh. “It would be difficult not to recognise Lord Ren. He’s rather distinctive.”  
         “Ren.” Hux’s voice is deadly calm. Mitaka nods. Quickly the general closes the distance between himself and the bed. He has so many questions, but none of them would be helpful right now (if ever).  
         Why Mitaka? What the hell was Ren doing? Had it been a symbolic attack on Hux? Or had the knight not put much thought into it and just chased his immature impulses as per usual?  
         All the general actually says is, “Shit. Did you tell the medical staff?”  
         “Of course. It’ll be confirmed by the sample they took.”  
         With an eyebrow raised, Hux looks lost. “Sample? Of what exactly?”  
         “Semen, Armitage.”  
         “Oh, he…?”  
         “Twice.”  
         Suddenly dizzy, the general steps to the bedside table and busies himself with pouring Dopheld a glass of water, not knowing whether the lieutenant is actually thirsty. But it gives him a moment to breathe. “Do you want me to bring anything from our rooms?”  
         “No, not tonight. Thank you.”  
         “Are you in pain?”  
         “Yes. But I don’t feel it.”  
         “Then how—” he begins.  
         “Opioids don’t stop pain,” Dopheld explains. “They keep one’s brain from registering it.”  
         Armitage blinks. “I suppose that works, then. What do you need from me right now?”  
         “Just stay.”  
         “Will they allow that?” Because they aren’t married or even engaged. The official extent of their relationship ends at shared quarters.  
         Dopheld rolls his eyes, a habit he’s picked up from his often-frustrated superior and boyfriend. “You’re their general.”  
         Still, Hux pops into the corridor to check in at the nurses’ station. “Hello. I’m Lieutenant Mitaka’s… partner. I was wondering if I might be able to stay with him overnight, as he asked me to.”  
         The charge nurse smiles at him sweetly. “Of course, hon. Sorry. General. Not hon at all. We’ll get you a cot.” She vanishes with a squeak of embarrassment that leaves Hux with a bewildered smile.

 


	2. Fourth Cycle

**0920.**

Dopheld has finished his breakfast (soft diet, oatmeal and juice) and is scrolling through the news feed on his tablet when a young man in uniform walks through the door.  
         “Lieutenant Mitaka?” the officer asks with a sharp salute.  
         He can tell the man isn’t part of the Medical Corps from the way he entered the room without knocking or asking him to identify himself. Also the nurses and doctors don’t salute. “Yes.”  
         “I’m Corporal Luca Shogin, Special Investigator with the First Order Justice Division.”  
         “How can I help you, Corporal?”  
         “Well, sir, I’m going to need to collect some information about your attack.” He takes a seat in the bedside chair. “To begin with, I’ll have to be honest. This is my first investigation of a major crime. Mostly I’ve dealt with cantina fights and minor domestic disputes.”  
          _Great, a rookie cop_ , Dopheld thinks, but chooses to put a light spin on it. He’s already tired of being constantly serious since the previous evening. “You’re in luck, then. This is the first major crime of which I’ve been a victim.”  
         Shogin laughs, then covers his mouth in immediate regret. “Sorry, Lieutenant. I suppose that isn’t funny.”  
         Dopheld smiles. “No, it really isn’t. I may still crack jokes, though.”  
         “I don’t mind.” The corporal scrolls down the screen of his tablet. Sounding daunted, he explains, “I have a great deal of questions to ask you, sir.”  
         “Then I suppose we’d better get started, unless you want to be here all day.”  
         “I’d rather not spend more time in Medical than necessary.” His face immediately falls. “Sorry. I know you’re stuck here, so I shouldn’t complain.”  
         At that, Dopheld raises his left arm slightly, displaying his peripheral line. “No worries. It’s more bearable when you have morphine.”  
         Shogin frowns. “Is the pain that bad, Lieutenant?”  
         “Sometimes.” He holds up the PCA control. “They gave me a button to administer my own doses, up to a certain cut-off. But I’m guessing that none of your official questions is about pain control.”  
         “No, sir.”  
         “Also, you can dispense with the ‘sirs’ and ‘Lieutenants.’”  
         The investigator nods. “I suppose I’ll just get on with it, then. Do you know the name of the individual who attacked you?”  
         “Yes. Lord Kylo Ren, of the Knights of Ren.”  
         The man drops his stylus onto the floor, where it clatters before rolling beneath the cardiac monitor. “Oh. Shit.” He stands up and peers under the machinery.  
         “Don’t bother,” Dopheld advises. “I’m sure the ID department would prefer you to use a clean one, if you have another.”  
         “ID?” Shogin asks.  
         “Infectious Disease. You know, the people who say there’s no such thing as a five-second rule in the hospital.”  
         The corporal reaches into his pocket for a second stylus and from the pattern of jabs, Mitaka guesses he’s typing in Kylo Ren. “There’s a bunch of questions about his description which I still need to fill in. Approximate height?”  
         “One hundred ninety or so centimetres.”  
         “Weight?”  
         “Difficult to determine in all the robes. Between eighty and one hundred kilograms, if I’d have to guess. Which I know is an unhelpfully wide range.”  
         “Eye and hair colour?” the corporal asks, body language demonstrating that he’s not overly hopeful for specific answers on these points.  
         “He kept that mask on. So indeterminable. Along with any facial characteristics.”  
         “Are there any other identifying details you could provide?”  
         “Hm. Let me think. Oh, he’s over twenty five centimetres and uncut.”  
         Shogin’s eyebrows knit before comprehension kicks in. “Kriff,” he mutters. “No wonder they have you on morphine.”  
         Mitaka is boundlessly grateful for the man’s sense of humour. Everyone else has been so bloody serious, and while the situation is serious, all the frowns and low voices and strained sympathy have been grating on Dopheld’s nerves.  
         The interview progresses. The questions and their documentation take over an hour, but Dopheld doesn’t have anything else to do. Finally, Shogin asks, “What questions do you have for me?”  
         “What happens next?”  
         “Next I review the other evidence before compiling and submitting my report to the court martial panel. I should warn you that in cases dealing with major crimes, this can be a protracted process.”  
          _If it proceeds at all_ , Dopheld thinks but doesn’t say. Instead he nods encouragingly and says, “I understand. Let me know if you need anything more from me. You know where to find me for the next few days. After that I’ll be back home, off duty for at least two weeks.”  
         “Home here? Or home-home?”  
         “I don’t have another home, really.” Just Hux. Armitage is home.

 

**1330.**

Dr Cetin returns to Mitaka’s bedside in the early afternoon. “How are you feeling today?”  
         “It’s a bit hard to tell, Doctor. What I do know is that I’m tired and aching.”  
         She nods in acknowledgement and changes the subject. “I heard your partner spent the night here. How did that go?”  
         Mitaka smiles thinly. “It was good to have him here. Though neither of us slept well.”  
         “Did you talk about what happened?”  
         He nods. “Some. There was no avoiding it.”  
         “How did he react?”  
         “Very professionally.” Although last night he’d seen Hux come the closest to losing his composure in the time they’ve been together.  
         “Do you mean coldly?”  
         “I do not.” If he had, he would’ve said that instead. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I suppose I’m a bit out of sorts. He was supportive. Rather upset, but he didn’t take it out on me.” He pauses. “What role is a partner supposed to have in this sort of situation? It isn’t as though he can fix anything.” Hux’s instinctive reaction to any problem is to attempt to solve it. To find order or, failing that, make order. Suddenly it occurs to Dopheld that the general may try to deal with the problem of Kylo Ren in a final and violent way. He knows Hux has the authority and willpower to order extra-judicial assassinations, and the lieutenant desperately hopes his boyfriend won’t pursue that potentially career-destroying path. Killing Ren would certainly satisfy a desire for revenge, but it would neither serve Hux well in the long run nor undo what occurred yesterday.  
         Dr Cetin says something about how ideally a partner should be supportive, an active listener, and follow Dopheld’s lead regarding his needs. It’s all very vague and theoretical, so Mitaka finds himself not paying close attention (which isn’t fair since he asked the question). The psychiatrist must notice his focus drifting, so she takes her leave.  
         Dopheld must have dozed again, because the next time he looks at the chrono, it’s already 1650. Feeling a pressure beneath his sternum, he thinks he may be experiencing a bit of acid reflux. To counter this, he rearranges his pillows and sits up. But instead of dissipating, the sensation grows along with a vague unease. He’s sweating lightly, and his pulse is elevated.  
_Don’t panic_ , he instructs himself, as though the two empty words would help. Instead, he panics. Eventually he hits his call button.

 

**1555.**

As the security briefing comes to a close, Captain Phasma surveys the table and leans in to ask Hux, “Where’s Mitaka today? He’s usually at these meetings.” Noticing the way the general’s jaw tightens in response to her inquiry, she quickly adds, “You didn’t have a fight, did you?”  
         “No, not at all,” Hux says as he powers off the screen of his tablet. “He isn’t well.”  
         They stand together and leave the room. “Huh. I sort of figured he was like you and never got sick.”  
         Hux raises a hand to his forehead as though warding off a headache. “He spent the night in Medical.”  
         “Oh, shit, Hux. Is he alright?” She watches Hux swallow and, suddenly worried that the general is about to start crying in the corridor, she asks, “Do we need to talk in your office?”  
         He nods silently. They head to his office and sit across from one another at Hux’s desk. Phasma removes her helmet and holds it in her lap as the general begins explaining. “Dopheld was assaulted yesterday in Comm Room 31. He has some broken bones, plenty of bruising, a moderate concussion, and a lost tooth.” After a pause spent staring blankly at the desk top, he continues, “All on top of the rape, that is.”  
         “Oh, Hux. I’m so sorry. Who could possibly do that to him?”  
         Finally he meets her gaze. “I think you can imagine.”  
         Phasma blinks a few times, then slowly begins shaking her head. “No. No, even for him…” But her protestation fails and the words fade. “Why?”  
         “I don’t know, Lailah. Because Dopheld’s gorgeous and easily overpowered? Because Ren wanted to make me suffer? Because he just bloody felt like it at the time?” Taking a swig of lukewarm caf from the mug he left on the desk this morning, he concludes, “It isn’t worth my effort to try to parse his motives. He doesn’t operate according to any logic or even internal consistency that I’m aware of.”  
         Nodding, Phasma says, “Granted. How is Mitaka holding up?”  
         “As soon as I’m done here, I’ll be heading over to check on him. The doctor says he’ll recover physically within four weeks. Otherwise, I’m not so sure.”

 

**1749.**

Before heading to Mitaka’s room, Hux swings by the nurses’ station. The staff is preparing for a shift change and the overnight nurse who had requisitioned his cot yesterday comes over to him.  
         “Will you be staying the night again, General?” she asks.  
         He pauses. “I’m not sure. It depends on what he wants, I suppose. Do you know how he’s doing?”  
         “Not really,” she admits, then hurriedly tacks on, “Sir. I haven’t had a chance to review his chart. We’re about to do the hand-off. I can find out which nurse took care of him today, though.” Another pause, then, “General. Sorry.”  
         Hux chuckles. “That’s quite alright. Is Dr Taisabi around somewhere?”  
         “Yes, I think he’s signing off on orders in his office before he leaves for the evening. Do you know where that is?” Seeing Hux shake his head, she gestures for him to follow her. “I’ll show you. Follow me, sir.”  
         Rapping his knuckles on the window of the office door, Hux watches as Taisabi turns toward the noise before buzzing him in. “General.”  
         “Doctor. I’m sorry to interrupt you.”  
         “Not at all, sir. This is part of my job. I’m guessing you’d like to know how Lieutenant Mitaka’s day has gone?”  
         “I would.”  
         “By all accounts, he appears to be doing as well as we could hope for. His pain is controlled. He said he didn’t sleep much, but he dozed some this afternoon. Dr Cetin, the psychiatrist, met with him again. Around 1700 he started showing symptoms of moderate anxiety, so he received a sedative. I’m hoping to prevent any outright panic attacks, as they can become a learned response. Almost like a habit. Although the sedatives as well as the pain medication can also be habit-forming. Do you know if he’s had any issues with substance use?”  
         “Other than tabacc, no. And he quit smoking over a year ago.” _Unlike me._  
         Taisabi nods encouragingly. “I’m glad to hear that.”  
         “When will he be discharged?” Hux dares to ask the doctor.  
         “Probably tomorrow. I’d like to run another full-body scan to make sure there isn’t any internal bleeding or clotting.”  
         Eyebrows knitting in concern, the general inquires, “Do you suspect there might be?”  
         The clinician shakes his head firmly. “No. There’s no sign of that. But considering the severity of the attack, we do need to rule out that possibility before sending him home.”  
         “And when can he return to active duty?” Hux is really inquiring for Dopheld’s sake; he’s seen the lieutenant become restless after more than two days away from work.  
         “He should have a full two weeks’ recovery time. But that also depends on a psych clearance we’ll be running.”  
         “Is that absolutely necessary? He isn’t mentally ill.”  
         “That isn’t the concern, sir. Trauma can change people in unpredictable ways. We need to ensure that going back to work is the best thing for him, and for the rest of his team.”  
         For no particular reason, Hux finds it important to state, “He’s an excellent officer.”  
         “I’m sure he is, General. And he’s a very pleasant young man, even in these less than ideal circumstances.”  
         “He’s also a terribly good person,” Hux muses. _Better than the vast majority of humanity_ , he adds silently. _Better than me—that much is for certain._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please pardon my potentially gratuitous description of the medical aspects of this story.
> 
> Also, I graduated! Now back to the Real World.


	3. Fifth Cycle

**0850.**

This is Mitaka’s second—and hopefully last—hospital breakfast. More oatmeal and a fruit cup composed of unidentifiable, bland cubes. Still, he finishes everything, and he’s reaching to place the tray on his bedside table when his care team arrives on morning rounds.  
         “Good morning, Lieutenant. How did you sleep?”  
         Dopheld answers, “Much more soundly than the first night.”  
         “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve reviewed the scans and tests we ran yesterday afternoon.”  
         The lieutenant inquires, “Any signs of coagulopathy?”  
         “Well, your D-dimer is still positive, but—”  
         Mitaka finishes for him, “But that’s meaningless because we already knew my clotting cascade was activated. What with the bleeding and all.”  
         “Yes. The second CT was clear. No visible clots or haemorrhage. The fractured ribs appear to be staying in alignment.”  
         “Oh, good. So I’ll be discharged today?”  
         Taisabi nods. “Yes.”  
         Mitaka almost says, “Good.” But something stops him while the word is still forming in his mouth. He isn’t sure he’s ready to go back to living with Hux. How differently is Armitage going to treat him? Mitaka knows he doesn’t want to be coddled, but he also strongly suspects he’ll need some rather delicate handling over the coming days. Weeks. Months. What he does say is, “Thank you, Doctor Taisabi.”  
         “Of course. I know I speak for the entire team when I say we wish we didn’t have cases like this. We’re trained and prepared for combat casualties, not… not this.”  
         “You don’t see a lot of sexual assaults, do you?” Dopheld certainly hopes not.  
         “Even a few is still too many.”

 

**1100.**

Hux knocks on the office door and opens it when a voice from within asks him to enter. There’s a balding, middle-aged man sitting at a crowded desk.  
         Without waiting for Hux to introduce himself, the man says, “General. Thank you for coming in.”  
         “Of course.”  
         “I’m Maz Ilker, a psychiatrist on staff. I wanted to discuss the care plan for Lieutenant Mitaka after we discharge him today.” He gestures to the chair across from his desk.  
          Dutifully taking a seat, Hux folds his hands in his lap. “Yes.” He waits patiently.  
         “Alright. So the plan is for him to remain off-duty for the next two weeks. Where will he be staying?”  
         The general cocks his head, figuring the answer is obvious. But perhaps it’s a standard question. “At home, with me.”  
         “Is that alright with you?”  
         Stunned, Hux responds, “It’s where he lives. For the past six months. Of course it’s alright. And it isn’t as though he has another option.”  
         “From reviewing his records, I got the impression that he isn’t on the best terms with his family.”  
         “No. They’re estranged. On account of his homosexuality.”  
         Ilker nods sadly. “Do you feel you’re prepared to take care of him?”  
         Hux swallows. “I’m not sure what exactly that’s going to entail, but I’m prepared to be there for him and do what I can.”  
         “I’m glad to hear that. Mitaka’s team is planning on sending him home with four prescriptions. One for pain, one for inflammation, and two psychiatric medications.”  
         The general blinks. “He doesn’t have a mental illness.”  
         “No, I know. These are to prevent one from developing. One is a beta-blocker. It’s often used to slow the heart rate, but studies have shown that it reduces incidence of PTSD when taken daily for the first months after a traumatic event.”  
         “Alright,” Hux says with a nod. “That sounds valuable. What about the other one?”  
         “Mitaka has shown some signs of acute anxiety, bordering on panic attacks, since he’s been here. It’s a common and natural response after any sort of assault. The other medication is a sedative, an orally disintegrating benzodiazepine. He may take one up to three times a day. This sheet,” he hands over a piece of flimsy before continuing, “lists the signs and symptoms of a panic attack. He may not be able to recognise when he’s about to have one, so I’d like you to look this over so you can assist as necessary. This is for you as well.” He furnishes Hux with a pamphlet.  
         “What is it?”  
         “It’s an information packet that describes some of the challenges your relationship may face going forward.”  
         Hux snorts. “My relationship.” His tone sounds awfully bitter.  
         “Pardon me, General. It was my understanding that you and Lieutenant Mitaka were—”  
         “Oh, we are. There’s no denying it now that we share quarters. But my main focus at the moment isn’t on our relationship. Or anything to do with me.”  
         The therapist nods. “Yes, I’m sure you’re very preoccupied with concerns for him and his recovery. However, that process will impact you as well. And your response will in turn affect him. I’d like to meet with you again next week.”  
         “For couple’s therapy?” he asks with an undisguised grimace.  
         “No, with you alone. Dr Cetin would be the one to handle couple’s therapy if she determines it’s indicated.”  
         “Oh. I… I see.” He shrugs, unable to find the energy to argue. “Well, select an open block in my schedule and write yourself in. Is there anything else?”  
         The doctor says, “No,” and offers his hand for a shake. Hux thanks him and takes his leave, then heads straight for Mitaka’s room.

 

**1130.**

A hesitant knock sounds on the door.  
         “Come in,” Dopheld calls out.  
         Corporal Shogin enters, tablet under one arm, looking crestfallen. “Lieutenant Mitaka,” he says quietly, then pauses as though he isn’t sure how to continue.  
         “Have a seat,” Dopheld suggests.  
         The investigator complies. “I’m very sorry to have to say this. But the evidence in your case has been… compromised.”  
         Dopheld shuts his eyes and discovers that he’s disappointed. He must have actually been hoping for this inquiry to go somewhere. How foolish. “Ah.”  
         “The security cameras inside the comm room and in the hallway outside only recorded static between your entry and the arrival of the paramedics. Also, the samples taken for the kit don’t match any personnel on board.”  
         “I see. So we’re done here, aren’t we?”  
         “Yes,” Shogin admits. Finally, he meets Dopheld’s gaze straight on. “Tell me something,” he murmurs. “It’s him, isn’t it? He’s using his powers.”  
         “I would guess so. Hm. No need to be circumspect. Yes, of course he is.”  
         With his voice still hushed, Shogin asks, “People like him, they can get away with anything, can’t they?”  
         Dopheld nods. It would appear so.  
         “I have one last question for you, though. Unrelated to the case. Your file says you live with your domestic partner.”  
         “Yes.”   
         “Who is listed as General Hux.”  
         Dopheld smiles, curious if this is going to be about him being with Hux or being gay. “Yes.”  
         “Is that strange? Living and working together?”  
         “A bit, yes. It took some getting used to.”  
         “I was just wondering. Because there’s this other investigator, and I wasn’t sure whether I should ask her out.”  
         Mitaka had definitely not been expecting this conversation to veer into relationship advice. After a moment’s reflection, he concludes, “I’d say go for it. The worst that could happen is nothing, which is what you have now.”  
         There’s another knock on the door, and Hux enters without a response. “Dopheld.” He holds his hand out to Shogin and introduces himself like a civilian. “Armitage Hux.”  
         “Corporal Luca Shogin, Justice Department.”  
         He nods once. “The MP in charge of this case.”  
         “Yes.”  
         “How is it proceeding?”  
         Dopheld answers, “Well, I was just giving the corporal some dating advice.”  
         Hux blinks, then turns to Shogin to determine whether Mitaka is in fact serious. The investigator nods in confirmation.  
         “As I was saying,” Dopheld concludes, “Ask her out. Good luck. And if she says no, don’t rape her.”  
         Hux’s mouth opens in disbelief at this pointer, but he hears Shogin chuckle and say, “Of course. Thank you, Lieutenant. Good to meet you, General.” The corporal takes his leave.  
         “So,” Hux starts, leaning over Dopheld for a kiss. “What were you two discussing before his love life?”  
         “The investigation is at a terminal impasse.”  
         “Shit.” Hux sits down heavily.  
         “He must have interfered with the evidence. The security footage and the sample.”  
         Hux closes his eyes and breathes. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.” Looking directly at Dopheld, he vows, “I swear I will do whatever is in my power to bring Ren to justice.”  
         Biting his lower lip, Dopheld wants to tell Hux not to put his career in jeopardy. But he’s so moved by the promise and the determination in his lover’s eyes that he just nods and says, “Thank you.”

 

**Bedtime.**

Hux risks a glance into Mitaka’s eyes and sees a glazed-over emptiness. Exhaustion. It looks almost like surrender, but he strongly hopes that isn’t the case.  
         “How are you holding up?”  
         “I’m tired.”  
         Stating the obvious, Hux says, “Then you should sleep.”  
         Nodding his assent, Mitaka stands to pull his pyjamas out of the drawer, then heads to the fresher.  
          _Oh_ , Hux realises. Dopheld isn’t going to undress in front of him. And that really oughtn’t mean anything, since Hux certainly isn’t expecting sex tonight, or really anytime soon. But it does signal a level of discomfort, a step away from intimacy, that the general hadn’t prepared for. Besides, he wants to check Dopheld over with his own eyes, to see how bad the marks are from—  
         Swallowing back a lump of horror threatening to turn into tears, Hux decides to change his own clothes while Dopheld is in the other room. Eventually the fresher door opens and Mitaka returns to the bedroom.  
         “If you’d prefer to sleep alone, I can take the couch,” Hux offers. I’ll understand.”  
         “You’ll understand,” Dopheld recites in a flat tone.  
         Hux winces at his own poor choice of words. “I meant I won’t be offended. I know I can’t understand.”  
         “No. But I don’t want to be alone.” What does he want? To have everything return to normal. And if he can’t have that, he’d settle for Ren’s disappearance from the galaxy. Or just from the _Finalizer_. With these wishful thoughts in mind, he climbs into bed alongside Hux, feeling distanced from the room.  
         The redhead shuts the lights with a verbal order and turns toward his boyfriend. “May I hold you?”  
         “Kriff, Armitage, I’m not made of flimsy. I won’t rip if you touch me.”  
         Feeling inexplicably defensive, Hux forces himself not to make a bitter retort. This is all so uncomfortably new. He puts an arm around this man and again wonders why in heaven’s name anyone would wish to harm him. Dopheld is clever, diligent, and dedicated, but he isn’t particularly ambitious. He doesn’t step on anyone’s toes, doesn’t make enemies.  
         No, that’s Hux’s role. And it makes the general suspect that he was the actual target, that Ren intended to hurt him through Mitaka. It’s incredibly unfair.


	4. Sixth Cycle

**0122.**

Mitaka sits bolt upright in bed with a shout. He’s gripping the bedsheet in both hands and trembling.  
         “Phel?”  
          _Can’t breathe. Strangled. Choked. Shoved against the wall. Ren is looming in, filling his vision._ “Help,” he begs.  
         Hux orders the lights to twenty percent and reaches for the drawer of the nightstand. He removes a medication punch-card, pops a tablet out onto his palm, and instructs, “Open your mouth. Stick out your tongue.” Mitaka obeys and Hux places the tablet onto his tongue. “Let it dissolve.”  
         Dopheld cries silently while they both wait for the medication to kick in. Hux rubs his shoulders, feeling ambivalent about drugging his lover. But this is only supposed to be temporary. The goal is to keep Dopheld from developing a pattern of panic, as part of a prophylactic regimen against post-traumatic stress. There are studies to back this up, he reminds himself: this is evidence-based medicine.  
         As soon as Mitaka’s breaths are once again slow and regular, Hux reaches out to the bedside table for his cigarettes and sparker.  
         Dopheld speaks up. “Here, give me one of those.”  
         “Are you sure you want to fall off the speeder?” Hux asks. The lieutenant quit over a year ago and Hux had promised not to get in the way of the process.  
         Nodding adamantly, Dopheld says, “I’m _jumping_ off the speeder.” Greedily sucking in a drag, Dopheld exhales with a sigh of pleasure. “Mm. These are better than I remember. This whole time I’ve been telling myself they were shit, and I nearly had myself convinced.” A long pause as he reacquaints himself with the act of smoking. “He was so large, Armitage,” he tells the ceiling. “I’ve never taken anything that size. And with hardly any preparation.”  
         “No wonder,” Hux murmurs before realising he’d said this out loud.  
         “What?”  
         “Taisabi suspected you’d been sodomised with a foreign object.”  
         “No, just a monstrous penis. All he did was spit into his glove, give me one finger, and then…” With a shudder, he continues. “He said I felt like a virgin.”  
         Hux’s upper lip curls in disgust. “He talked?” He doesn’t want to know; yet he feels he must. As long as Dopheld is willing to share this information, Hux will listen.  
         “Didn’t shut up.” Mitaka smokes and stares at the wall.  
        _(Pfassk. Such a tight little thing. You’re going to be my frightened virgin for a little while. I’ll remind you what first times are like.)_  
         “He’s lucky he’s currently off-ship on a mission, because otherwise I’d find a way to throw him out of an airlock.”  
         “Thank you.”  
         “I don’t think I’m supposed to say things like that. It’s patronising and encourages violence. Toxic masculinity and all that.”  
         “Well, _I_ appreciate it,” Dopheld decides with a grin.  
         Shrugging, the general supposes that’s all that matters. Cigarettes burnt down to the filters, they lay back down to sleep.

 

**0540.**

As he does most mornings, Hux wakes first. Lifting up the covers in order to swing his legs off the bed, he glances at Mitaka’s sleeping figure and pauses. Dopheld’s undershirt is scrunched up just below his armpit on one side, displaying a map of dark purple bruises and red lumps across his chest.  
          _This is precisely what he didn’t want me to see last night._  
         Hux blinks, forces himself to stop staring, and covers Dopheld’s torso with the blanket. The lieutenant murmurs, stirs incrementally, then falls silent and still again.  
         Going to the kitchen, Hux starts the caf brewing and sits down with his tablet to review the events of the night cycle that’s just concluding. But he can’t banish the image of Dopheld’s bruises from his mind. Frowning at what he’s about to do, he signs in to Mitaka’s medical record and reviews the photographs taken at his admission. The pictures are labelled and dated but otherwise unannotated, left to speak for themselves. Hux examines the extent of the damage. The swollen right side of his chest at the location of the broken ribs. The empty spot in his upper gum line. The necklace of bruises in the pattern of fingertips around his neck. Judging by their placement, Ren must have taken him from behind. Hux slowly sips his caf and determines that he has no appetite for breakfast. Then he steels himself and opens the photograph of Dopheld’s anus.  
         Tears leak from his eyes at the sight of congealed blood and semen and he immediately closes out of the file. How could anyone treat something that precious so cruelly? Hux knows Dopheld is hardly as delicate as he may appear, but he and his body deserve respect. In fact, he probably deserves someone better than Hux (although the lieutenant will emphatically disagree on that point).  
         One thing Hux knows for certain is that he won’t again be able to tell Dopheld, “I’m going to wreck you.” That particular promise has previously made Mitaka whimper and demand that Hux deliver on it, but from now on the knowledge of how his body appeared after true abuse will serve as a powerful deterrent.  
         In the bedroom, the alarm beeps. Hux neglected to switch it off; he’d forgotten that Dopheld doesn’t need to rise at his normal time today. That he actually doesn’t have to get out of bed at all if he doesn’t want to. It’s up to him. Hux stretches and briskly walks to the bedroom.  
         Mitaka is wincing as he fumbles toward the alarm. Bracing his palms against the mattress, he attempts to sit up and instead yelps. Striding to the bedside table, Hux silences the alarm and picks up the nearest prescription bottle. After scanning the label to make sure it’s the analgaesic, he shakes a tablet onto his palm and hands it to Dopheld along with the water glass. The lieutenant looks at him like he's a hero.  
         In silent gratitude, Mitaka swallows the pill and falls back onto his pillow.  
         “How did you sleep?”  
         “Tolerably well. Surprisingly so, actually, after the... intermission.”  
         Wondering if Mitaka should have stayed another day in Medical, Hux offers, “What should I bring you for breakfast?”  
         Shrugging, Dopheld answers, “No strong preference. But I’m supposed to adhere to a soft diet for at least the next three days.”  
         Out of an academic curiosity more than anything else, Hux asks, “Why is that?” He likes asking Mitaka medical questions.  
         With a slight frown, Dopheld explains, “To minimise the discomfort from moving my bowels.”  
         “Oh. I see.” And he does see—sees that last viewed documentation of violence. “Will yoghurt do?”  
         “Yoghurt would be lovely, thank you.”  
         Always so polite, even in pain after trauma. Dopheld is one of the best people Hux has ever met, and by far the kindest he’s ever been with. The general’s previous relationships comprise a parade of attractive narcissists, pretty men who were just as manipulative as he although not nearly as talented at it. Hux has had to relearn how to interact on a personal level, and he’s taken the majority of his instruction from Dopheld.

 

**1910.**

The general returns to his quarters at the end of Mitaka’s first day of medical leave. Luckily it had been a particularly busy day—he had plenty of work to catch up on, things that he’d let slide while Dopheld was in hospital.  
         Hanging his cap on its hook by the door, he peers into the living room where the lieutenant is seated on the couch, reading from his tablet. He’s still in his pyjamas, but it’s clear he’s taken a sonic and appears more or less comfortable. “How was your day?” Hux inquires.  
         Tilting his head, Mitaka takes a moment to reflect. “Quite pleasant, actually. I smoked too much and I’ve been reading up on the latest critical care guidelines.” He waves the tablet in the air for illustration.  
         With an indulgent smile, Hux says, “You’re such a nerd.”  
         The edges of the lieutenant’s eyes crinkle at the familiar jibe. “Says the man who reads engineering journals for pleasure.”  
         Hux joins Mitaka on the couch and moves to touch him, but thinks better of it. He’s decided not to initiate physical contact without permission, at least for the time being. Until he knows where they stand. “Have you been keeping on top of the pain?”  
         “Yes. I even napped.”  
         The general is impressed. He’s never known Dopheld to take a nap; at most he can sleep in until about 0830 on a day off-duty. “Good. What should I order for dinner? What would you like that’s permissibly soft?”  
         “Soup, I suppose. How about that Mandalorian stew?”  
         Nodding enthusiastically, Hux punches a request into his tablet. “Want to watch something while we eat?”  
         “Cover of Darkness?” he suggests.  
         Hux shrugs, a bit surprised. The show is a gritty crime drama set in the Unknown Regions, and the storylines rarely end well for anyone involved. But he supposes even fictional misery would be a welcome distraction from Dopheld’s current predicament. He flips the projector on, selects the programme, and they settle in together until dinner arrives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hux breaks HIPAA. Don't read people's medical records without their explicit permission unless you're on their healthcare team.


	5. Seventh Cycle

On his second morning home alone, Dopheld sleeps until just past 0900 and eats a cold breakfast of yoghurt and juice. Pushing his chair back, he stretches lazily before shuffling into the fresher and switching on the hot water. This is a luxury he still isn’t used to. Growing up, his family’s apartment only had lukewarm water running through its pipes on the best days. And as a cadet and junior officer, he’d only been permitted sonic showers.  
         He steps out of his pyjamas and surveys his damaged body in the mirror. This is the first time he’s taken a good look at himself.  
         “You’re a right mess, Mitaka,” he mutters to himself, remembering the sort of dressing-down the cadets used to receive during muster. He’d never personally been singled out; he’d been too anxious about the consequences of showing up in anything less than perfect form.  
         Now, standing barefoot on the cold tile, he examines his bruises, cataloguing each mark and swollen spot. In a way, he’s glad to have outward evidence of what he’d been through. It forces him to admit that he needs time to heal up. Besides, the beating had been the easiest part of the assault. Mitaka is slight, polite, and gay—he’s no stranger to bullying or the odd punch to the face or gut. Although it’s been years since any of that; his commission had instantly granted him physical safety within the military apparatus. A good deal of things that were common occurrences at Arkanis wouldn’t be tolerated elsewhere in the Order.  
         As he steps under the stream of hot water, he groans in combined relief and pain. The heat and steam on his sore body brings a welcome ache that dissolves into relaxation. Never one to waste resources, he lathers himself up. Soon he’s scrubbing much harder than necessary. Despite the high quality soap, Dopheld still feels filthy. Contaminated.  
         When he notices that he’s subconsciously attempting to get rid of Ren, his breath hitches and he lets out a quiet sob. The sound echoes hollowly in the fresher, his distress bouncing back and forth between the walls. He allows the water to rinse the suds from his skin—there’s no point in continuing to scrub.  
         Because problem isn’t with the surface of his body; it’s deeper than that. What happened a week ago cannot be removed with even the most thorough shower. Still, he’d rather like to shed his skin and start fresh with cells that Ren never touched.  
         Remembering last night, the way Hux had made an aborted motion to reach for him, he wonders if the general views him as tainted. What does Dopheld look like in his boyfriend’s eyes? Does Armitage look at him and only see what Ren had done?  
         Slapping the shower control panel, Dopheld turns off the water flow and watches the last of it swirl down the drain. He grabs a towel and dries himself off, then walks straight to the bedside table and takes a sedative. He’s not panicking yet, but suspecting what might underlie Hux’s reticence to touch him has him feeling vulnerable and anxious.  
         He moves to the couch, closes his eyes, and imagines what the bridge team is currently busy with. It’s oddly comforting. He’ll be back to work soon enough.

 

At the end of his personal audience with the Supreme Leader, Hux remains facing the projection of the throne. He clears his throat, signalling that he isn’t quite ready to be dismissed.  
         “There’s something else you wish to discuss, General.” It isn’t a question; it rarely is with Snoke.  
         “Forgive me, Supreme Leader, but I can’t in good conscience avoid the topic of Kylo Ren.”  
         Snoke smiles enigmatically, his mouth a monstrous gash. “Yes?” he hisses. “What about him?”  
         “He attacked another of my officers this week.”  
         “The little lieutenant? Ren told me they had some fun.”  
         Hux snorts derisively at the word choice. “Ren may have had fun. The ‘little lieutenant’ was brutally raped.” He’s horrified that the knight would mention this to Snoke. Do they regularly discuss the man’s personal life, or what passes for one? Does Ren share everything with his master? Or was there something special about this particular outrage?  
         “Well. The man is of no consequence,” Snoke concludes with a dismissive wave of a clawed hand.  
         Becoming rapidly flustered, Hux argues, “The man is an officer of the First Order, one of the best members of my team, and…”  
         “And, Hux?”  
         The general swallows. He’s never been comfortable sharing his private affairs with those in authority—the less others know, the less they can use against him. “And my partner. I want Ren transferred off my ship immediately. He has no place here. He _ought_ to be in prison.”  
         Snoke laughs drily at the request. “That’s hardly reasonable, General. But feel free to discuss your emotional issues with Kylo Ren directly. However, you should know that such indulgences further his path to power, and serve to deepen his connection to the Dark.” Leaning forward, gripping the armrests of the throne with skeletal hands, Snoke concludes, “You couldn’t possibly understand, but you must respect it.”  
         “Yes, My Lord.” Hux bows, feeling sick at his words and gesture of acquiescence. He isn’t the hero Dopheld needs. As he strides toward the exit in defeat, Snoke speaks again.  
         “Oh, and Hux?” the creature asks in a cruelly playful tone. “Perhaps you and Kylo Ren could come to some sort of... agreement. Maybe a timeshare arrangement with this lieutenant you both find so compelling.”  
         It takes every last ounce of Hux’s considerable willpower to refrain from committing high treason on the spot. As he exits the audience chamber, his eyes immediately narrow as he takes in the sight of Lord Kylo Ren. The knight is leaning casually against the wall, awaiting his turn to speak privately with the Supreme Leader.  
         “Good afternoon, General Hux.” He pauses, tilting his head in assessment. “You talked about me.”  
         Coolly, Hux allows, “The subject may have arisen.”  
         Behind the mask, Ren hums before saying, “I never took you to be a possessive man, Hux.”  
         “This isn’t possessiveness, Ren.” Hux wishes the man weren’t hiding behind that mask—he feels he’s owed the courtesy of an unmasked conversation. He’d feel on more even ground if he could see the bastard’s face. Besides, it would be so much easier to punch it that way.  
         “Pardon me, is it _love_?”  
         “It’s none of your bloody business what it is,” Hux returns with a snarl. “What it was that you ruined.” He really ought to have walked away already; if he can’t have Ren removed from the _Finalizer_ , he should at least limit their interactions. It would give the knight less opportunity to get a rise out of him, as he just has.  
         A disembodied laugh filters through the vocorder. “So he isn’t putting out anymore, is he? I suppose now that he’s had a real man—”  
         Whirling around, blinded by his rage, Hux throws himself on Ren. Uselessly, he pummels the knight’s chest with his balled fists. “You fucking monster. You took my top officer, my…” But he chokes before he can say the word _lover_. “And you…” He stands back, gasping, breathless with anger.  
         “Can’t bring yourself to say it, can you?” Ren backs Hux against the wall, holding him there half with his weight, half with the Force. His inscrutable mask is mere centimetres from the general’s face. When he speaks again, his voice is low as though he’s about to share an intimate secret. “Allow me, then. I fucked him. Hard and rough, the way he deserves. And he protested, of course, he cried and begged and even bled a little. But deep down, he loved it. I gave him something you never could. Pure, unbridled lust. Besides, I’m _much_ bigger than you, in every sense. Taller, stronger, more well-endowed. You’ll never be able to satisfy him the way I did. He’ll have to think of me to get off when you’re inside him. If he ever lets you take him again, that is.”  
         Hux frowns, thinking about how Ren may be correct about Mitaka’s future interest in sex, albeit for the wrong reasons. “I despise you with everything I have left. And one day, I will find a way to destroy you.”  
         “Good luck with that, General.”  
         Hux walks away, Ren’s mechanical chuckle eerily following him down the hallway.

 

After dinner, Hux sets his cutlery down and finally relays the content of his meeting with Snoke.  
         “I asked the Supreme Leader to transfer Ren.”  
         Dopheld shrugs. “He said no.” He knows this must be the case because otherwise the general would have shared the information immediately on returning home.  
         “Yes.” Hux doesn’t disclose what else Snoke had said, or Ren’s taunting words outside the audience chamber.  
         Mitaka snorts at the news and sits back in his chair. “I have no illusions of the Order’s priorities; I know I’m not one of them. What I am is an expendable junior officer.”  
         Hearing unwelcome echoes of Snoke, Hux stammers. “ _Phel_ … Well… I’m…”  
         “You’ve done what you could, and I don’t expect you to say anything treasonous. I know Ren is far more valuable than me. I just wish he’d weren’t around.” He tries to force his hands to stop shaking. He hasn’t seen Ren since that evening—he’s barely been out of their private rooms—but he continuously expects to see him looming around every corner. This hypervigilance is concerning; if it doesn’t die down soon he’s in danger of long-term problems. Dopheld doesn’t want to string together the letters PTSD, not even silently in his own head. “Perhaps I ought to submit a transfer request for myself.”  
         The general’s mouth falls open.  
         “Just for a temporary reassignment.” He’s not sure where he would go, or what he would do there, but at least it would be away. “I don’t know, Armitage.”  
         As much as it hurts to get these words out, Hux says, “If it’s what you think you need, then you should go ahead. I want you to get better, even if I’m not around to see it.”  
         “Armitage, I don’t want to leave you. You may be the only thing keeping me sane right now.”  
         “Then please stay.”  
         “I don’t even know what I’m talking about. Or what I need. I’m sorry I’m so confused.”  
         Hux reaches a hand across the table in a reconciliatory gesture, and the lieutenant immediately grasps it with his own. “Don’t apologise, Phel. You have nothing for which to be sorry.”  
         Dopheld sighs. Hux is being so kind, it almost hurts.

 

As they’re getting ready for bed, Mitaka can’t help but notice the way Hux is carefully moving around him, avoiding incidentally bumping or even brushing against him.  
         “Do you not want to touch me?” Dopheld blurts out with no warning.  
         “No, of course I do,” Hux insists, aghast at the suggestion. “I’m just… waiting for you to initiate any physical contact.”  
         The lieutenant blinks repeatedly. “I promise I’m not that fragile. I may not be ready for anything sexual, but you can touch me. We’re still a couple.” It’s the one thing he can rely on right now; he can’t even hold onto his career as a defining attribute, since he’s off-duty for another ten days. He’s rather adrift with so much time away from the bridge.  
         “Alright. I was concerned.”  
         “It’s making me feel like some sort of pariah. Like my body has been contaminated.” Which, honestly, is how he himself has been feeling, off and on. But he doesn’t need Hux contributing to it.  
         Shaking his head emphatically, Hux declares, “I don’t feel that way, I swear.” Finally, he leans in and reaches out with both hands to brush Mitaka’s hair away from his temples. “He didn’t damage you in my esteem.”  
         “Would you still want me, if I wanted it?”  
         “Of course, Phel.” He refrains from asking when Dopheld thinks he might be interested again. That will be the lieutenant’s decision alone, and the general will be ready and willing whenever that time should arise.  
         They settle in under the covers, Hux lying with his chest to Dopheld’s back and an arm slung around him.


	6. Treatment

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This installment includes the story's first explicit content. It's fully consensual (although being masturbatory, that rather goes with the territory).

Something nudges Dopheld awake. It isn’t panic, not quite, but there’s something needling the back of his mind. He shifts his body, wondering if perhaps he’s been sleeping in an uncomfortable position. Perhaps one of his limbs has gone numb.  
         He feels Hux’s presence at his back, the warm hand curled lightly around his hip. And something warmer on his buttocks.  
         With a jolt, Dopheld darts out of bed.  
         “Hm? What is it?” Hux asks, voice thick with sleep.  
         “Nothing,” Dopheld responds, too quickly.  
         Hearing the panic in his voice, Hux sits up and switches on the light. “Dopheld?” He’s fully awake now. All it takes is the barest hint of a crisis to command his full attention.  
         “You’re… I’m sorry.” With those vague words, he bolts to the fresher.  
         From the bed, Hux hears the tap switch on and beneath it, the unmistakable sound of Mitaka retching into the basin. Brow furrowed, he tries to discern what precisely just happened. He stretches and realises he’s erect. That he’d been spooning Dopheld in his sleep, and his body had responded in its customary way to the lieutenant’s physical presence. Especially when he hasn’t gotten off in several days.  
          _Shit_.  
         Putting his face in his hands, he silently coaches himself, the way he always has in difficult times.  
          _Do better. You have to do better. You have to maintain control._  
         In the fresher, Dopheld must be rinsing out his mouth and brushing his teeth. Hux imagines his boyfriend staring into the mirror and steeling himself to return to bed. The general’s own counsel turns to recrimination.  
          _You’re not a good enough man for this. You never have been._

 

Four days into what they’re now calling his “house arrest,” Dopheld is out meeting with his psychiatrist. Hux’s turn is tomorrow, and he’s already dreading it.  
         Partially to keep at bay thoughts of his own impending appointment, and partially to take advantage of the opportunity, Hux chooses to masturbate. He isn’t so much interested in pursuing his own gratification as avoiding a repeat of the night before last, when his thoughtless body had propelled Dopheld into a panic.  
         It takes longer than ever before. He’s not trying to edge himself, but each time he approaches climax, some intrusive image sets him back.  
         Dopheld’s chest, swollen and mottled with bruises.  
         The disgusted downturn of his lips when he woke up to discover that Hux was pressed against his back and hard as hell.  
         A memory of Kylo Ren sweeping down a hallway.  
         Shaking his head, Hux once again spits into his palm and tries to relax against the cushions. But since he can’t trust his own thoughts, he turns to pornography. Skipping ahead in one of his favourite videos, he sighs while one man buries his tongue in the other’s ass. Listening to the man receiving this pleasure pant and moan delightfully, Hux curls one wet fingertip behind his balls and teases himself. Pfassk, how he’d love Dopheld to take him right now. It feels like it’s been ages.  
         Gasping in the empty room, the general desperately misses the way Dopheld tastes. Mouth, cock, ass. The way he sucks his lower lip between his teeth when Hux presses a slicked finger against his prostate and rubs just so, the way he struggles to stay quiet (a lesson learned at Arkanis and never since fully abandoned).  
         The younger man on screen is straddling the other, spreading his cheeks with both hands as he sinks down. For a brief moment, Hux sees a wince of pain cross the bottom’s face, and his own stomach twists. No matter that it’s temporary or that the young man has already moved on to enjoying it thoroughly. Hux can’t watch this part right now.  
         He returns to an earlier scene in which the bottom is receiving an enthusiastically wet blowjob, tightly gripping the armrests of his chair and sighing quietly. It reminds Hux of the way Dopheld responds in similar situations. How the lieutenant politely keeps his hands to himself until the very end, at which point he finally grabs Hux by the hair and ruts into his face with abandon, his own head thrown back, eyes closed.  
         His breath hitching, he whispers, “Phel,” and comes onto his stomach. All over it, rather. He’s surprised at the mess he makes; he’s thirty six and doesn’t produce as much ejaculate as he used to. But he supposes this might have something to do with the fact that it’s been seven days since he last got off.

 

“How did the first week go?” Dr Ilker asks once Hux has made himself more or less comfortable in the chair across from him.  
         The general shrugs. “Tiring. Starting with his first night home and continuing right through to this morning.”  
         “What happened when he came home?”  
         “Well. At bedtime he didn’t undress in front of me. Which I suppose isn’t surprising, but it hurt at the time. I suppose he didn’t want me to see all the bruises. Or he wasn’t comfortable being nude. Then he woke up shouting in the middle of the night. I gave him one of the sedatives, made us some tea, and we went back to bed.”  
         “Did you talk?”  
         “A bit. Mostly I just held him.”  
         Ilker nods slowly, approvingly. “Words aren’t always necessary. Tell me, what strong emotions have you been feeling since Dopheld came home?”  
         “All of them, particularly the unpleasant ones,” Hux admits to Dr Ilker with a severe look. “And I don’t do well with that. I never have.” That isn’t strictly true; he’d been a rather sensitive child, at least until he moved into his father’s care and was coached on suppressing all evidence of weakness.  
         “I’m not surprised that your life is ruled by logic and order. However, you must understand that powerful emotions will arise, and if left unacknowledged lead to trouble.”  
         Now Hux nods, albeit tersely. He knows he isn’t the most emotionally intelligent person in any given crowd, but neither is he ignorant. “That’s why I’m here, I suppose. To attempt to maintain composure. I’m not going to do Dopheld any favours by bottling things up and eventually flying off the handle.”  
         “Which feeling in particular has threatened your composure in the past few days?”  
         “Rage. I haven’t felt this sort of anger since… ever, I don’t think. I wasn’t aware that I could feel so strongly about anything, especially an event that happened to another person. Or that I could _hate_ an individual so powerfully.”  
         “I’m guessing this someone—”  
         “Is Kylo Ren. Yes. And I… fuck, I want him dead. But not until he suffers. Horribly.”  
         “Will charges be filed?”  
         Hux scoffs. “No. The evidence was mysteriously compromised. Besides, I’ve been informed—from above my paygrade—that _Lord_ Ren operates outside the military structure and is therefore not subject to a court martial.” He doesn’t say the name “Snoke” but it’s clear what he means when he refers to a superior. No one else fits that description.  
         “What about proceeding in a civilian criminal court?”  
         “Again, there’s the issue of evidence. But more than that, it was also explained to me that Ren is to be permitted to indulge his _whims_ as part of his training. Apparently it grants him access to greater mystical powers. And before you ask, I inquired about the possibility of him being transferred and—”  
         Ilker interrupts, “Let me guess. Not an option either.”  
         “It would seem not. So Mitaka and I have to suffer the continued presence of this… creature who… _Kriff_. Just the sight of him makes me contemplate murder methods. The more barbaric the better. And I can’t imagine how Mitaka feels. But I know that I want Ren dead and his body spaced like refuse.”  
         “Are you planning on doing anything to make that happen?”  
         He levels a cool stare at the therapist. “No. Don’t get me wrong, though: I would without hesitation if I thought I had any chance at being successful.” Reading the diplomas on the wall for at least the tenth time, he asks, “What do we do? Mitaka’s going to return to duty soon, and although Ren is often off ship, he is based here. It isn’t right that Mitaka should have to tolerate the man’s presence. In fact, as co-commander, Ren is invited to the strategy meetings which Mitaka attends as my adjutant. Of course, Ren has only shown up a handful of times, but his presence is a possibility. Should I switch adjutants, even though Dopheld would take it as an insult and my own work would suffer? Should Mitaka request a transfer? I don’t want to be away from him, but perhaps it would be best for _him_ …” Shaking his head, he admits, “I don’t know the right course of action here. Nothing has ever been so unclear to me.”  
         Tapping his stylus against his notebook, Ilker suggests, “Talk to each other about it. Whatever you decide to do, decide it together.”


	7. Compensation

Mitaka stares at the piece of flimsy that arrived in an envelope with the Personnel Department’s stamp. “Armitage?” he asks in a trembling voice.  
         “Yes?”  
         “Do you know anything about this?” He holds up the missive.  
         Hux leans in and scans the words. “What. The bloody hell. Is this.”  
         “Apparently I’m receiving seven thousand credits as a ‘hazard pay deposit.’” He huffs. “I was under the impression that hazard pay was in compensation for danger encountered in the line of duty. Not attacks from other service members.”  
         Hux nods. “That is correct. I have no idea what the _fuck_ this is. Other than insulting.” He’s tempted to storm right out of here and demand to speak to whatever idiot in charge thought this would be a good idea. It rather sounds like hush money. (“Please accept these credits and don’t mention the name Kylo Ren.”)  
         Dopheld cocks his head and speaks in a distant voice. “How much money do you think would offset a rape?”  
         “I… I wouldn’t dare put a price tag on it.” This is precisely the sort of question he knows not to answer. But it does set him thinking. To lose two weeks of work. Spend two nights in hospital. To wait for broken bones to mend. Be haunted by the memory of being held down, having your agency over your own body stripped from you along with your trousers. Hear and feel another take pleasure from your pain. To wrestle with the knowledge that the person who caused you all this suffering will never be held accountable for it, will continue to live and work in your vicinity. That he could easily do it again.  
         Mitaka’s voice interrupts Hux’s inner rant. “I wonder whether I could refuse it.”

 

 _There_ , Ren thinks with a self-satisfied smile. The deposit into Mitaka’s account has cleared. That should help make up for the physical damage he’d caused. Because that part has been bothering him. He hadn’t meant to cause any injury to that sweet young thing. Manhandle him, yes. Break bones, no. But then the lieutenant had shouted and struggled, and Ren’s combat training had taken over. He’d been blinded with anger— _How could you not want me? You’re just a junior officer. You should be grateful for my interest._  
         When the rage had worn off, Mitaka was whimpering on the floor and Ren could tell he’d fractured two ribs. His erection hadn’t flagged a bit, though, so he went ahead with his original plan. Hauled the lieutenant up by his belt buckle, pushed him over the nearest console, and gave him a proper seeing to.  
         He knows what it looks like to an outside observer, knows how Hux must despise him. But he’d felt thrums of satisfaction deep inside Mitaka once he’d finally resigned himself to what was happening. He’d heard the lieutenant groan quietly when Ren unloaded in him the first time.  
         Still. When Taka finally comes around, Ren will be more careful with him. He’ll make certain the lieutenant climaxes as well.

 

“I miss you,” Hux admits in a whisper to the side of Dopheld’s face. It hurts to say this, as though he’s putting extra distance between them just by pointing it out.  
         Dopheld murmurs, “I’m right here, Armitage.”  
          _No, you’re not._ Hux curls his fingers in Dopheld’s hair and can’t help but recall the way he used to do this when the lieutenant was on his knees before him. “Fuck,” he spits. “I want to destroy him.”  
         Sneering and waving his cigarette with an exaggerated gesture of endorsement, Mitaka says, “Yes, by all means. Risk your career to avenge my besmirched honour.”  
         “I… It isn’t that,” Hux stumbles. He’s misspeaking so frequently these days. Either that or Dopheld has been mishearing him. “Ren simply doesn’t deserve to live. Anyone who could… What he did to you.”  
         “The term is rape.”  
         “Yes. I know. And why you?” he finally asks. “I simply don’t understand. If his issue is with me, why attack you?”  
         With a shrug, Dopheld speculates, “Perhaps he viewed me as a method of getting to you. Or maybe I was just nearby and convenient.” He lets out a prolonged sigh. “Does it really matter, though?”  
         “Perhaps not.” The effect is the same: Dopheld is damaged, hurting, and so is their relationship.  
         They lie in bed beside one another, not sleeping or speaking. Hux is contemplating how someone could be aroused by violence, particularly of the non-consensual variety. Benign power play he can grasp the attraction of, and judging by the way Mitaka sometimes gasps, “ _General!_ ” when they’re in bed together, he figures the lieutenant can as well.  
         But this. This is something on an entirely different level. Who could possibly enjoy an unwilling body, one that’s making opposition clear by actively struggling against you, one that’s injured and even bleeding?  
         Ren, apparently. And he had enjoyed it enough for a second round almost immediately. Hux squeezes his eyes shut tightly enough to see stars, disgusted by the thought that the bastard may have had the best sex of his life when he forced himself on Dopheld Mitaka.

 

The next morning after Hux leaves for his shift with a kiss on the cheek, Dopheld sits at the kitchen table and stares at the text editor open on his datapad screen. He has a few thoughts to put into writing.  
          _I’m right here,_ Dopheld starts. The next few words come out hesitantly, in a series of false starts and deletes, but soon he’s typing quickly, fingers nearly unable to keep pace with his thoughts.  
        _But when you say you miss me, I think I know what you mean. I must seem distant and changed: I am distant and changed. I imagine you desperately want everything to return to the way it was before, and I can hardly blame you for that as I do as well. But that’s impossible now. We can’t erase what happened, nor can we pretend it didn’t. And of course it changed me, probably for the worse. Is that what you meant to tell me?_  
_Please do me the favour of saying what you mean. I’m here, right here, and I can handle what you’re thinking because believe me, I’m thinking it, too._  
_How much damage did he really do? I’m not sure yet, so I can’t tell you. I’d like to think that each day will be easier than the last, but I know that isn’t true. It’s awfully similar to grief—I remember from my little sister’s death—in that the recovery process is far from linear. I suppose it is grief I’m feeling. We’ve lost the existence we had together, and now we’re struggling to fill the gaps he punched in our intimacy._  
_I’d like to believe that tomorrow I’ll wake up and want to have sex again, but I most likely won’t. Just thinking about it makes me a little queasy, and for that I’m so sorry. You deserve to have us back to normal. You deserve the pleasure I used to give you._  
_I’m right here, Armitage, but I miss me, too._  
         He pushes his chair back, stretches, and downs the rest of his lukewarm caf. He’s not planning on taking a painkiller during the day today, not if he can help it. He needs to regain functionality to be able to return to work. These days alone with little to do are beginning to grate on his nerves. If only he could work out. Go for a quick swim, at least.  
         Glancing back at his tablet, he tries to decide whether to show his message to Hux. He chooses to weigh his decision throughout the day. There’s no rush, after all.  
         Besides, taking a bit of time to proofread never hurt anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter including:  
> -HR inadvertently upsetting people  
> -First glimpse at Kylo Ren's very flawed thought processes  
> -The nonlinear quality of grief


	8. Miss Me?

It’s his first day back on duty and Dopheld doesn’t want to dine in the canteen, but he knows he shouldn’t make avoiding social interaction a habit. Hiding will raise questions and cause concerns. In the short term, it may be more comfortable to slink away from his colleagues, but it won’t help him move forward. And it seems that Moving Forward (capitalised) is of utmost importance.  
         “I’m glad to have you back on the bridge, Dopheld.” It’s Lieutenant Unamo, giving a kind smile but standing a polite distance away.  
         “Thank you.”  
         “Mind if I sit with you?”  
         He gives her a genuine smile. “Not at all.”  
         Unamo sets her tray down and slides into the seat across from him. “How are you feeling?”  
         Shrugging as he considers potential responses, he settles on, “Physically well enough.” He doesn’t want to lie, but he doesn’t want to burden her either. It’s a fine line to walk, and one he isn’t familiar with.  
         She must notice the qualifier. “May I inquire as to what happened? All I know is that you were attacked.”  
         “Yes. That’s true.”  _Very true. The truest._  
         “What was the damage?”  
         “Two fractured ribs, both displaced. It still hurts a bit to breathe in deeply. Some internal bleeding, but that resolved quickly. And this,” he says, lightly tapping his right upper canine with a fingertip, “is new. It’s temporary until they fit me for a proper replacement, once the swelling’s gone.”  
         “Shit,” she hisses. “Do you know who it was?”  
         Dropping eye contact and disconsolately stirring his soup, he mumbles, “Yes. For all the good it’ll do me. As it turns out, choking me after Jakku wasn’t enough.”  
         “Ren?” she asks in an undertone. His spoken name has become something of a curse among _Finalizer_ personnel. The Lord Knight is a wraith that stalks their hallways and occasionally lashes out at anything nearby.  
         He nods. “Masai,” he begins, then shuts his mouth. She leans in across the table, sensing that she’s about to hear something important. “He…” Again he pauses, this time swallowing down a sob. “He didn’t just beat me, Masai.”  
         “What did—” Her eyes widen and her fork drops onto her plate with a clatter. “Oh. Shit. No.”  
         “Yes. Twice.” He isn’t looking at her while he says this, instead he’s maintaining a steady focus on his bowl of soup.  
         She folds her arms on the table and leans in. “When’s the court martial?”  
         “Ah. There shan’t be one. The evidence was damaged. And apparently my attack was a crucial part of his training.” Smiling grimly, he adds, “At least I received a hazard pay bonus. I was informed it will be doubled if there’s ever a second ‘incident’.”  
         “That’s just… offensive.” She takes a gulp of water. “How is Hux handling it?”  
         “He’s good. Royally pissed off, but supportive.” Morosely, Mitaka wonders how long it will take before he exhausts Hux’s undoubtedly limited stores of compassion.

 

In the evening, Dopheld and Hux are on the couch watching another episode of _Cover of Darkness_. Mitaka has settled against Hux’s shoulder and is appreciating the other man’s familiar warmth. When the scene ends, he pauses the video and heads to the kitchen for a glass of water.  
         “Bring me one, too, would you?” Hux calls out.  
         Mitaka reaches a hand out to the cupboard for a second glass when it happens.  
     _—Miss me?_  
         Dopheld freezes in the kitchen, and his fingers lose their grip on the full glass in his hand. It falls to the floor, spilling water on its way down, smashing into pieces when it hits the ground. The lieutenant barely notices this or the fact that his socks are now wet and increasingly cold.  
         Shivering at the voice in his mind more than the puddle of ice water he’s standing in, Mitaka speaks aloud. “No. No. Get out.”  
          _—Because I miss you. That tight ass felt so good. Mm, the way you shuddered when I rammed inside you._  
         He reaches out with both hands to steady himself against the countertop. “Out. Now.”  
          _—I bet you’re not nearly as tight around Hux. I know you miss the way I stretched you open._  
         “You tore me, you bastard,” Dopheld mutters. “It still hurts when I use the toilet.”  
         Ren continues unfazed, as though so fully caught up in his reverie of lust that he hasn’t heard or registered what Mitaka just said. _He can’t fuck you the way I can._  
         “You’re right about that,” the lieutenant whispers. “He wouldn’t ever rape me.”  
          _—And now you know that isn’t enough. This is my new favourite sight. Look at you._  
         An image cuts out Mitaka’s vision of the kitchen. It’s a view of his own back, seen from behind and above. He can see his rumpled tunic and below it his bare ass. His heart races when he sees Ren’s dick thrusting between his cheeks, watches the knight’s gloved hands (one around his waist, one in his hair) pull him back and forth like a masturbatory aid instead of a person. When he speaks again, he does so silently but with all the energy he can muster.  
          _—Fuck you. Get out. Get out. Get out. Now._  
         With a mental laugh that makes Mitaka’s skin crawl, Ren’s presence withdraws.  
         Hux is standing the doorway to the kitchen, gazing down at the broken glass, the spilled water. “What happened?” he asks, crouching to carefully pick up the shattered pieces, looking up at Dopheld’s terrified expression.  
         “He was here,” Dopheld says with a shudder.  
         The general tosses the shards in the rubbish and comes close enough to rub the lieutenant’s shoulders. “No one’s here but us, Phel.”  
         “You don’t understand! In  _here_ ,” Mitaka repeats, turning to look Hux in the face, and this time he points to his forehead.  
         Hux’s stomach gives a sickening lurch. “What the hell is he doing to you?”  
         Dopheld answers in broken phrases. “He told me how good I felt. And showed me. Myself. What I looked like when.” He digs fingertips into his cheeks, leaving red crescents where his nails latch into the skin. For a moment, it looks like he wants to claw his own face off, but he soon stops.  
         The general guides Mitaka to the bedroom in order to administer one of the dissolving anti-anxiety tablets. “I have never desired someone’s death as much as his,” he confesses in a voice hardly above a whisper.  
         “Nor have I.”

 

After leaving Mitaka’s mind, Ren sneaks a hand below his waistband and starts teasing himself. He’s already terribly hard.  
         The sweet lieutenant really is a slut. Ren knows. He’s seen it, seen Mitaka and Hux together so many times. He’s been watching ever since the first night they spent in the general’s quarters, when Ren was started out of a deep meditation by thrums of pleasure from next door.  
         The way Dopheld licks his lips hungrily before opening his mouth to swallow down a cock. It may always be Hux’s, but Kylo has a feeling Dopheld would enjoy anything long and hard put in front of him. The bigger the better; he always rises to a challenge.  
         Kylo wonders if Dopheld could take all of his length into that hot, eager mouth without being held down. He imagines the lieutenant would love to try. He thinks Mitaka likes it rougher than Hux is interested in giving.  
         The knight has skimmed over all the times Mitaka has had Hux. It doesn’t fit into his characterisation of the man. Mitaka is a bottom who for some strange reason wants to keep pretending he’s versatile. But eventually he’ll give up that pointless struggle. One of these days, the lieutenant will admit it to himself and ring at Kylo’s door.  
         “Take me the way you did in the comm room,” the pretty boy will beg. Then he’ll promise, “But this time I won’t fight back.”  
         In Kylo Ren’s head, the young officer is his Taka, and he’s a fiend.  
         “This time, I’ll scream for you to keep going.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mitaka returns to duty. Things get worse.


	9. What Changed?

A message from Medical arrives on Dopheld’s tablet at 0915. Reflexively, he taps it open. It requires a passkey. Bracing himself mentally, he enters his code.  
         It’s official. Everything is negative; he has a clean bill of health.  
         He breathes in, breathes out. And even though it’s a personal matter, he decides to inform Hux right away. Leading the general off to a quiet corner, he murmurs, “My final results are back. I’m in the clear.”  
         “Oh, thank the bloody Maker.” Armitage leans down and places a quick peck on Dopheld’s cheek. “We should have a nice dinner to celebrate.”  
         Dopheld smiles up at him, looking serene for once. “I’d like that.” He heads back to his console.  
         Standing at the head of the bridge, gazing into space, Hux reflects on the good news. How significant is it, really? Most sexually transmitted infections are easily curable. The few that are not have treatments.  
          _And it isn’t as though we’re going to have sex anyway._  
         Reeling in horror at his own unworthy thought, Hux raises a gloved fist to his mouth. _Idiot._ _This isn’t about you or your frustrated desire._ But he isn’t accustomed to being this selfless. That’s Dopheld’s territory.  
         Suddenly, but not for the first time, he wishes it had been him Ren had attacked. Dopheld would be so much better in Hux’s current position. He’s the kind one, the understanding and patient one.  
         It’s only been a shade over two weeks, and Hux is already feeling the strain of being a decent man.

 

After their very pleasant three-course dinner, Hux settles in at his desk to catch up on some work. Dopheld ducks into the fresher to brush his teeth.  
          _—Evening, Lieutenant._  
         Dopheld freezes instantly, toothbrush stuck en route to his mouth.  
          _—You never answered my question. Have you missed me?_  
         Shaking his head emphatically as his only answer, Mitaka stares at his own reflection. He lowers the toothbrush but retains a death-grip around the handle.  
          _—Come now, don’t be coy. Fine, I’ll be honest first. You were the best lay I’ve ever had._  
         The lieutenant chokes down rising bile. “I wasn’t a lay,” he mutters. “I was a victim.” He doubts Ren will appreciate the distinction, but feels it’s important to point out.  
          _—I can feel your pulse speeding. I wish you’d let yourself enjoy it more. I could give you so much pleasure. And Hux wouldn’t have to know. We could dally during lunchtime, maybe just a few days a week._  
         He sends Mitaka a scene out of his own fantasies: Pulling the lieutenant into a supply closet, pushing him to his knees, and shoving himself down the young man’s throat.  
          _—You’re quite an accomplished cocksucker, are you not?_  
         Dopheld’s upper lip curves into a snarl as he listens to Ren mention a skill he’s quite proud of, turning it into something sickening.  
          _—Good. I’d love to fuck your face for a while. Then I could just plunge inside your tight little ass, using your drool as lube. Gods, I can tell how excited you are._  
         If excitement is another word for dry-heaving bent over the sink, then yes.  
          _—You’re such a hot little cock-slut. I know you need something big to challenge you. Open you up good and wide. I’ve never come so hard as I did inside your sweet little hole._  
         Their connection is more bidirectional than Mitaka would prefer. The knight is masturbating into his mind, and he can feel Ren’s climax approaching. Dopheld spits a mouthful of bile into the sink.  
          _—Wish you’d take this load right now. Deep inside, like the first two. No, in your mouth. Want you to suck it down while you look up at me in gratitude. Oh, Taka, you filthy bitch._  
         Gratitude? Is that what the knight wants from him? If so, he’ll be sorely disappointed. Dopheld Mitaka may very well end up broken from this, but he’ll never thank Ren for it. He shudders when he feels a burst of pleasure explode in his mind. At least it’s followed by the man’s swift departure.  
         That’s the most thanks he’ll get.  
         Mitaka opens the fresher door and Hux turns from his seat at the desk to peer at him. He must have heard Dopheld’s retching.  
         “Oh, shit,” the redhead murmurs immediately at the expression on the lieutenant’s face. “He did it again, didn’t he?”  
         Silently, Dopheld nods. He’s afraid that if he speaks, he’ll start sobbing. Hux stands and crosses the room to him, puts his arms around his shoulders, and just holds him close.  
         “I’ll do whatever it takes to stop this,” Armitage swears into his ear. “No matter _what_ it takes.”  
         That’s when Dopheld does in fact break into tears. “No one can stop him. That’s the trouble. He can do whatever he bloody well likes.” Apparently, that includes continuing to torment him.  
         “He may very well think that. But I intend to show him otherwise.”

 

Dopheld is off the painkiller and it’s taking him longer to fall asleep. Although he needs to be winding down, his mind is whirring as though it could fix all of his problems at 2355.  
         What changed in the past few days that has Ren contacting him like this? Had the knight simply been busy before? Was he waiting for Mitaka to recover a bit, at least physically? Or is there some other factor in play?  
         Dopheld begins compiling a list of potential reasons, intending to investigate each in turn.  
         First, he learns that although Ren had been off-ship for the first two days he was back from hospital, he returned on the third and apparently had plenty of time to destroy a small army of droids in a private training room. So he hadn’t been too busy.  
         Dopheld starts to suspect that the crucial factor is something different about _him_ , not Ren.  
         Well, he’s back on duty now, so perhaps the knight has seen him on the bridge? But Dopheld doesn’t think so—he’s quite certain that he’d be aware of the man’s looming, unwanted presence.  
         An odd little idea occurs to him, but it seems so minor at first that Mitaka dismisses it out of hand. However, as he rules out other explanations one by one over the next few days, the thought returns again and again.  
         It merits a closer look, he decides. Armitage certainly won’t like it. So Dopheld will have to keep it quiet until he’s removed all doubt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short chapter before worse badness begins.  
> Also, I couldn’t resist a nod to the BBC’s House of Cards. (“You might very well think that, but I couldn’t possibly comment.” —Frank Urquhart)


	10. Hazy

It’s Mitaka’s eighth day, his off-duty cycle, and he has a plan. A theory to test. The vial was surprisingly easy to obtain; he went through Hux’s connection to the deep net and found a contact on board. The rest of the material was even simpler to procure, especially for someone who’s on the ship’s expanded emergency response team. After all this time, he’s kept current on his certification in advanced life support and remains a qualified first responder. The only instance in which he’s used those skills was when a middle-aged petty officer suffered a myocardial infarction in the cafeteria, but he still figures it’s useful to be prepared. He’d rather not let years of training go to complete waste.  
         He eats breakfast first, because he has a feeling he’ll be too sedated to find motivation or hunger later. After a quick blast in the sonic, he sits down and lays his brand new kit out on the desk, item by item.  
         Alcohol swabs. Sterile bandage. Medical tape. Tourniquet. Needle. Syringe.  
         Morphine.  
         He cleans off the surface of the desk first, then inspects the insides of both elbows. It’s been a while since he’s placed an IV, so he chooses his left arm for the injection. That way he can use his dominant hand for administration.  
         Rereading the label to check the concentration (ten milligrams per millilitre), he wraps the tourniquet around his left deltoid and flexes his hand a few time. As his median cubital vein pops into prominence, he remembers why phlebotomists have always been happy to have him donate blood. Very visible and accessible. He pulls on a pair of exam gloves, coats their surfaces with more rubbing alcohol, and attaches the needle to the hub of the syringe. Pulling back on the plunger, he measures half a millilitre of air and sinks the needle, bevel down, into the top of the vial. Flips it over, pushes the air inside, and slowly draws it back. Closes a fist around the barrel, slaps the fist with the flat palm of his other hand, and inspects it for bubbles. There’s a stubborn one hanging out by the rubber stopper, so he pushes the solution back inside and tries again. There. Much better. He eases the needle out, places the syringe between his teeth—exactly the way he shouldn’t do, but he needs both hands free (since he has no assistant) and it’s also unsafe to recap it—and pulls the tourniquet off. Flexes his left fist again, then lines the needle up, leading with the bevel again. Sinks it in, tapes it securely in place. Pulls back on the plunger, watches blood bloom in the barrel, and then slowly injects. By the time he’s done, he can already feel his head beginning to swim. After all, it’s been ten days since his last dose of any narcotic.  
         Carefully he removes the needle, sets the syringe down on the desk, and slaps a bandage on the site. Then he sits back to take a moment to appreciate the non-medical effects of the drug now coursing through him.  
         They’re really quite lovely. He’s never taken anything except under the guidance of a physician, but now he can see why there’s a market for this chemical and others like it. Why his contact was entirely unsurprised when the answer to “What do you need?” was “Morphine.”  
         He hopes that he didn’t just commit a crime, break the officers’ code, and put himself at risk of developing an addiction without the single specific benefit he was going for. But he stands up and goes about the business of clearing the evidence off his desk while he waits to find out.  
         He’s tossing the syringe and needle into the nearest Medical Waste bin when he feels Ren’s presence just before the knight speaks into his consciousness.  
_—Lieutenant._  
         “Hah,” he chuckles aloud. “Lord Ren. Good of you to drop in.”  
_—You’re… different today._  
         “Not really,” he says with a bitter snort. “I still wish you were dead.”  
_—What have you done?_  
         “What do you care?”  
_—You’re… hazy. Callous. What did you do to yourself?_  
         “I took a medication. Do you not care for its side effects?” he asks, voice almost teasing. This interaction is so much easier when high.  
_—You’re impaired._ Ren sounds almost horrified at the realisation.  
         “Yes. Good thing it’s my day off and I have no plans to pilot anything.”  
         With the mental equivalent of a confused shrug, Ren vanishes. Mitaka feels a swell of victory in his chest. It’s all worth it. And he’s rather proud of having gotten to the bottom of this mystery.

 

The following evening, Hux returns home while Dopheld is preparing his second injection.  
         The general stops dead in the doorway of the bedroom. “Phel, what are you doing?” he asks, voice low and hollow.  
         Mitaka turns to level a stare at him. “What does it look like?” he asks coldly.  
         “May I see?” Hux asks, pointing carefully at the vial. After Dopheld nods, Armitage steps up to the desk, reaches for the bottle, and reads the label. “Morphine.” He sets it back down on the desk and watches the lieutenant disinfect the top with an alcohol swab. He waits for an explanation.  
         “It keeps him away.” Smiling grimly, Mitaka provides his reasons. “I figured it out. Why he wasn’t in my head after the attack. It was because I was drugged.”  
         “Phel, you’re not thinking clearly. You need to rest.”  
         Dopheld sinks the needle into the vial cap and flips them over as a unit. “Yes. This is the only way I’m going to get it.” He injects air into the vial before steadily drawing solution into the barrel. “Now either leave or stay out of my way.”  
         At the ultimatum, Hux backs away instinctively, having never heard Dopheld speak like this. And how can he judge? He’s never been where Mitaka is. “I’m sorry,” he offers. It may not be the right thing to say, but it has the benefit of being true.  
         “Five milligrams,” Mitaka says, holding the loaded syringe up for review. “Not much. I received higher doses in Medical.”  
         “Do you know what you’re doing?”  
         Dopheld rolls his eyes. “I trained as a combat medic. I’m a first responder. So, yes, I know what I’m doing.”  
         Helplessly, Hux watches as Mitaka prepares a vein. Unsure why he’s still present for this, the general’s breath catches in his throat when he notices a red dot on the inside of the lieutenant’s other elbow. This isn’t the first dose he’s injected. “You’ve done this already,” he says, hearing the betrayal apparent in his voice. “When were you going to tell me? Or were you planning to keep this activity to yourself?”  
         “I had to test my theory first,” Dopheld explains. “Yesterday.” A small, pained sound escapes his mouth when the needle hits its mark. He pulls back on the plunger, testing for venous return, then slowly pushes it down. “Oh, damn it,” he murmurs, fumbling to release the tourniquet from his arm. The general’s unexpected presence distracted him from following the proper sequence. Hux steps in to remove the band for him. “Shit, thanks.” He hisses when he slips the needle out, then presses a gauze pad to the injection site and bends his arm at the elbow.  
         “Why doesn’t he want to talk to you when you’re drugged?”  
         “Not sure. But when he tried yesterday, I felt a bit of his reaction. Disappointment, disgust.”  
         Hux snorts. The thought of Ren being turned off by drug use is surprising. In his own experience, opposition to drugged or drunken sex is often based in a concern about the impaired ability to give consent. Which is patently not an issue for Lord Ren. “Perhaps it’s because he can’t get the same rise out of you.”  
         “Mm,” Dopheld agrees, his eyelids drooping involuntarily. “Fuck. If I’d discovered this before Arkanis, I never would have become an officer.”  
         Armitage’s eyebrows knit in concern at this statement. It suggests that Dopheld is enjoying more than the defence against telepathy. “No, you would have become a junkie instead.”  
         “Yes,” he admits dreamily. “Although I may still do that.”  
         Holding Dopheld’s head against his chest, Armitage absently plays with his hair and breathes deeply. “Please don’t,” he murmurs. He has no idea what else to say.

 

Dr Ilker starts off Hux’s weekly session by asking about his current prevailing emotion.  
         “Helplessness,” the general decides. “I’m not accustomed to it.”  
         “What do you feel helpless about?”  
          _Just about everything?_ “The fact that I’m mostly standing around, watching Dopheld wrestle with this. That I’m unable to help bring Ren to justice, or even keep him from contacting my boyfriend.”  
         “And has he? Or is this a hypothetical concern?”  
         “He has.” Clenching his fists powerlessly before forcing himself to relax them, Hux argues, “And if I wasn’t able to prevent the attack in the first place, I should at least keep him safe going forward.”  
         “Why do you believe that should be in your power?”  
         The redhead blinks, surprised that he’s even being asked this question. “Because I’m the highest ranking officer in the First Order. I’m his general and his lover, and if I can’t protect him in either of those roles, what bloody use am I?”  
         “Even the most powerful among us is not omnipotent. Although it’s natural to wish to shield those who mean the most to us, it simply isn’t always feasible. But that hardly renders you useless.”  
         Hux gives the man a pointed stare. It demands, _Convince me otherwise._  
         “I doubt Dopheld expects you to solve all of his problems, or to make his life easy. Because you can’t. However, you can be present and loving.”  
         “That isn’t sufficient.” He’d been present and loving before, and that hadn’t prevented this mess. And he’s _still_ both of those things, but last night he’d walked in on a Dopheld desperate enough to mainline morphine.  
         “It will have to be.”  
         Staring at the psychiatrist, Hux slowly comes to the realisation that he’s being given permission to be less than perfect, to fall short of ideal. And why does he accept this in others but not himself? Does he really believe himself to be so superior that a separate and higher set of standards applies to him alone?  
         He’ll have to consider this.  
         The therapist appears to sense Hux’s line of thought when he concludes, “Think on it. We’ll discuss it again next week.”

 

When he returns home after the appointment, Hux is greeted at the door. Mitaka is smiling calmly, standing shirtless and gorgeous in the hallway. Positively fuckable, Hux can’t help but thinking. It’s the type of thought that once had no reason to give him pause but now makes him instantly nervous.  
         Hux notes the fresh bandage strip on the lieutenant’s inner elbow and knows what it means. Three nights in a row.  
         “How did it go?” Dopheld asks, handing him a cup of freshly brewed mint tea. The smell of it alone is soothing and goes a good way towards easing Hux’s mind. Besides, it tells him that Dopheld is functional enough to think of and make a pot of tea. It’s a normal, thoughtful activity for him.  
         “Annoyingly.” Immediately after these sessions, Hux finds it strangely easy to keep talking. Perhaps it has something to do with inertia. “I discussed my sense of powerlessness. For my continued inability to keep you safe.” They settle beside one another on the sofa, each holding a teacup.  
         With a knowing smile, Dopheld asks, “Did he tell you that wasn’t your job?”  
         “Not in so many words, but yes.” Running a hand carelessly through his hair—the way he only does when he’s off duty and comfortable—he surmises, “He must have no idea what it is to be an officer. To be responsible for the wellbeing of your entire team.”  
         “I’m hardly a mindless trooper,” Dopheld points out, taking a sip from his cup.  
         Hux puts a hand on the lieutenant’s knee before he can think that this might not be a welcome gesture. “I know.” When he frowns and moves to withdraw his hand, Dopheld places his own over it to keep it right where it is. “I still want to protect you, as patronising as that may sound. You’ve been through more than enough, and I’d like your troubles to end there.”  
         “As would I, of course,” Dopheld agrees, sets his cup down, and leans against Hux’s shoulder. He looks up at the general’s far too serious expression and suggests a distraction. “Fuck me?”  
         Startled, Hux asks, “What was that?”  
         “You heard me. Why don’t you fuck me tonight? I’m sure you’ve missed it.”  
         Mouth opening and shutting several times before he can get a word out of it, Hux manages, “Well, yes. Of course I’ve missed it. But. If you’re not ready—”  
         Shrugging casually, Mitaka discloses, “I’m hardly in any position to mind at the moment.”  
         “That’s not… It’s still not ideal.”  
         “Nothing is ideal anymore, Armitage. Surely you recognise that.”  
         Hux nods slowly. He does indeed, all too well.  
         “Kiss me, at least.”  
         Setting his tea down, the redhead leans in and gently presses his lips to Dopheld’s. The lieutenant is willing, but his responses are delayed, his movements sluggish. Still, it’s better than nothing. It almost feels the way it used to. Lazy and unhurried, this is like the prelude to morning sex, before their first cups of caf. Hux pauses to stroke Mitaka’s cheek and look into his eyes. “Maker, I’ve wanted this so badly.” He’s referring to the deep kiss; since the lieutenant’s return home, they’ve done no more than peck.  
         “Don’t you want more?” Dopheld murmurs, reaching down to palm Hux’s crotch.  
         The general can’t keep his body from responding to the question and the teasing touch accompanying it. “Yes. I do. But.”  
         “But nothing. I don’t want him to be the last one to have me.”  
         “Oh.” Hux hadn’t thought of it like that.  
         “Unless you don’t want me now that I’m damaged.”  
         Despite the warnings in the pamphlet Dr Ilker handed him, Hux hasn’t found his attraction to Dopheld lessened in any way since the attack. True, the lieutenant is very different now and Hux wishes he weren’t. But he still desperately lusts after him. “You know that isn’t the case. I jerk off to the thought of you every single day, Phel.”  
         The lieutenant looks surprised at the information; Hux has been discreet. “The way I was, or…?”  
         “It doesn’t matter. However you are.”  
         Mitaka gives him a slow smile that isn’t empty or fake. It may be dulled, but it’s real. “Then take me back.” He stands up to remove his trousers and briefs, stretches slowly, and goes to the nightstand for the lubricant.  
         As Mitaka moves, Hux reappraises his body. Just the right amount of muscle tone. Sharp hipbones. Beautiful curved arse. “You’re bloody gorgeous, you bastard,” he breathes, following him to the bedroom.  
         Looking over his shoulder, Dopheld gives him that smile again. Such a reward.  
         Armitage sits on the edge of the bed and pats it. “Come here, Phel. Lie down on your stomach.” Once Dopheld is lying prone on the mattress, Hux nudges his legs apart to kneel between them. Leaning in, he spreads Mitaka’s cheeks and licks down the centre. The lieutenant inhales sharply, and Hux pauses to make sure it’s a good noise. It is. Hux presses his mouth against the pucker, dampens it, darts his tongue just inside. _Kriff, I almost forgot what he tasted like._ And Dopheld doesn’t moan the way he used to, but he does pant quietly into the pillow.  
         As he gently guides Mitaka into position on his knees, Hux hopes all this is different enough to keep thoughts of Ren at bay, although he worries that may change with penetration. But Dopheld’s on their bed, not bent over a console, and the general maintains skin to skin contact with his bare hands, as if to say, It’s me. He’s attempting to keep Dopheld grounded to reality. Their reality.  
         “Ready?” Hux asks breathlessly, leaning back on his folded legs and applying lubricant to himself.  
         Gazing over his shoulder, Mitaka nods, looking distantly happy that Hux wants this so badly.  
         “Maker, you’re so beautiful.” He tests Dopheld’s readiness with two fingers. His wet hole stretches around him. “Missed this. Missed you.” And then he slides in.  
         Despite the lack of recent practice, Dopheld’s body gives easily. It remembers Hux, his touch and scent. His shape and movements. They’ve been together for nearly two years. Besides, tonight Mitaka is relaxed and sedated. “Armitage,” he whispers.  
         “Yes?”  
         “Thank you.”  
         The redhead leans forward to kiss Dopheld’s neck, to pet his hair. “You’re welcome. How do you want this?”  
         “Slow. Make it last.”  
         Hux chuckles in an undertone at the request. “Slow I can do. But I’m not sure how long I can last. This is still so perfect.” He hadn’t intended to say _still_ ; the word just slipped out.  
         “After everything.”  
         “Yes, Phel. Always. Love you.”  
         Mitaka’s shoulders twitch in surprise. Hux has never been the sort to declare love during sex, or often at all. Dopheld knows how his boyfriend feels, knows he’s rarely comfortable talking about it. “Oh hell, Armitage.” He glances back at the redhead, sees moisture in his green eyes as he rocks his hips gently. “Love you, too.”  
         Just before the point of climax, Hux suddenly grasps that he isn’t sure whether he should come inside Dopheld’s body. Luckily this panicked realisation grants him time to think more or less rationally.  
         He chooses to pull out, turn Dopheld over, and ejaculate onto his stomach. He bends forward and lazily licks it off him, the sort of thing he’d usually only do in front of a camera. Because otherwise he’d do what he nearly did tonight, and come deep in Dopheld’s arse. Although he does like kissing the trail of trimmed hair leading from Mitaka’s navel downwards.  
         “What do you want?” he asks, moving up to nuzzle at Dopheld’s ear and reach between his legs. The lieutenant isn’t hard, but Hux has plans to make that change very soon.  
         Dopheld turns away, preventing access below his stomach. “Nothing.”  
         “Are you sure?” the redhead asks with a concerned raise of his eyebrows.  
         “Yes. I can’t get it up right now anyways.”  
         “Oh.” Hux sits back to look at him carefully. He wonders how concerned he ought to be that Dopheld had just offered him sex when he himself wouldn’t be able to climax. Settling on moderately so, Hux asks, “Because of the attack?”  
         Shaking his head, Dopheld explains, “Because of the morphine and lorazepam. It still felt good, though.”  
         As nothing more is required of him physically, Hux sits up to light a cigarette and inhales. Settling back against his pillow, Hux runs his free hand over Dopheld’s side. “You’ve lost weight,” he observes.  
         “Yes, some.” There’s no point in denying it; he knows he’s clearly skinnier than he was. His ribcage and collarbone protrude a bit more noticeably than before.  
         Hux’s forehead crinkles. “Intentionally?”  
         “No, Armitage. I’m not going for the half-starved POW look.” With a self-conscious sigh, he leaves the bed, grabs his bathrobe, and ties it around his waist. He gestures as if to say, _There, all better._ “You know, we should keep having sex.”  
         The redhead nods happily, lazily blowing post-coital smoke rings up at the ceiling.  
         “Eventually I might enjoy it again.” Watching Hux’s face fall, he scrambles to explain. “I mean get off on it. It was good to feel you after all this while.”  
         Nodding his acceptance at the clarification, Hux says, “If you need to take more time, don’t feel pressured on my account. I have two hands and a catalogue of memories of you.”  
         “Not to mention the vids we’ve taken.” He reaches over Hux to the bedside table and takes a cigarette for himself. Lighting it, he changes the subject somewhat. “Anyway, I couldn’t help but notice you didn’t come in me.”  
         “I… It occurred to me at the last minute that doing so might not be the best idea.”  
         “You thought it would upset me.” Dopheld taps ash into the tray resting on Hux’s chest.  
         “I was concerned that it might.”  
         “You should have asked.”  
         Although at the moment in question he hadn’t trusted Mitaka to have his own best interests at heart, Hux decides not to admit this aloud. “Yes,” he agrees instead. “I should have. Next time we’ll talk beforehand.”  
         “No need to discuss it. Next time, I want you to come inside me like you always did.”

 

Trying to fall asleep as the morphine wears off, Dopheld reviews the evening. He’s rather pissed at Hux, and at least equally pissed at himself for _being_ pissed off. Armitage had only taken his potential feelings into consideration. Seeing as how Hux had been rather preoccupied with fucking him at the time, Dopheld shouldn’t be annoyed that the man had done the careful thing instead of opening the topic up for discussion. And yet, Dopheld is annoyed. He wishes his feelings weren’t constantly on the forefront of Hux’s mind. Because there used to be more of a balance. Avoiding a breakdown on Mitaka’s part hadn’t been a priority because it hadn’t been at all likely. Until recently, he hadn’t experienced a breakdown since his sister’s death when he was ten.  
         Dopheld desperately wants to go to sleep, but it’s 0105 and his mind is waking up as he sobers up. This is what he gets for dosing himself so early in the day.  
_I could take another dose_ , he thinks, and the reward centre of his brain releases a jolt of delight at the idea. How groggy would he be in the morning? Worse, would he still be impaired? Maybe half a dose would do…  
         After wrestling with his impulses for half an hour, during which time it becomes clearly too late for more, he goes to the medicine cabinet for an antihistamine. It isn’t what he wants, but it isn’t dangerous either.

  
The next morning as he prepares for duty, it occurs to Hux that Dopheld had purposefully doped himself up to be able to have sex with him. And then he remembers that intoxicated people can’t give proper consent.  
_You idiot_ , he scolds himself in the mirror. _How is he going to recover if you keep thinking only of yourself? All you know how to do is manipulate the people around you and kill those farther away._  
         As he puts his hair in order, he hears an old refrain echo in his mind.  
_Not good enough. Never good enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And Stiletto Ren called it.  
>  Note: Nonmedicinal drug use and sex under the influence.  
> Also, I'll be combining the previous two chapters into one.


	11. Careful Wording

Ren can’t help but watch when Hux returns home and Mitaka greets him half-nude at the door. He can feel the general’s reticence, but it doesn’t last long. Not after the kiss Dopheld gives him, the squeeze to his trousers, and the way he lies prone on the bed in invitation. Hux has impressive self-control, but no one could fault him for giving in to that particular temptation.  
          The knight has every intention of masturbating to the scene unfolding across the hallway. After all, he still hopes to get some entertainment out of Dopheld, even when the man’s too high for his mind to be enjoyed. But the way the general and lieutenant have sex is all wrong for Ren’s tastes. All sweet and languid, it isn’t fucking—it’s bloody _love-making_. His upper lip curls in disgust. He’d hoped to watch the general pound one out into Taka, they way he often used to. Like they did when recording themselves.  
_—Your fault_ , a tiny voice in his head whispers in bitter recrimination. _He doesn’t want that anymore because of you._  
_—Shut up, Ben. No one asked your opinion._  
         In a pique of anger, Ren reaches out for the nearest breakable object and hurls his comm against the far wall. It’s the eighth one he’s destroyed in as many months.  
         They really ought to make them sturdier.

 

Hux arrives at his office customarily early and settles in at his office desk, trying to put his thoughts in order. This had never been a difficult task until recently.  
         Other than alcohol, caffeine, and the cigarettes, Armitage has never used a potentially addictive substance. He doesn’t understand the draw, except in cases where a person’s reality is so miserable as to render reasonable decisions pointless.  
         He wonders if Mitaka has reached that state. If so, he really doesn’t blame the man.  
         Still, the general needs to prepare for a conversation about morphine. And while he knows precisely what he would like the outcome to be, he’s unsure of how to effect that endpoint. Can’t be too horrified. Can’t be too forgiving, either. But how does one go about being loving and stern at the same time?  
         Closing his eyes, he tries out the first thoughts that come to him.  
_I’m worried about this. I’m afraid you might not be able to keep it in check. And while I can’t possibly understand what exactly is driving you to do this, neither am I clueless about your motivations. You must want him gone entirely; so do I. Out of your mind, off-ship, dead. Whatever it takes._  
          _Whatever it takes_ , he repeats to himself.  
         What if morphine is what it takes? What if this is the most power Dopheld can reclaim? The ability to numb himself to the point where Ren no longer enjoys him, where he can manage to put up with the act of sex again?  
          _Oh, shit_. What if this is the best they can do?

 

When he returns home after a quick conversation with Phasma at the end of his shift, Hux is unsurprised to find Dopheld at the bedroom desk.  
         “We need to talk about this,” Hux declares, inclining his chin at the vial and injection supplies.  
         “Can it wait until I’m finished here?” Mitaka asks wearily.  
         Hux’s brow wrinkles in thought. If Dopheld is too high, they may not be able to have much of a conversation at all. On the other hand, if he’s forced to wait, he’ll likely spend the entire time thinking about his postponed fix and feeling bitter about it. “Will you be able to focus?”  
         “Yes.”  
         “Then you may proceed.” Watching Dopheld tie off, he has to inquire, “Why inject, though? Doesn’t it come in tablets?” He’s thinking about the medication the lieutenant was discharged with and wonders what was wrong with that. It seems safer, if not from an addiction standpoint, then at least from an infectious one. He doesn’t doubt Dopheld’s technique, but their bedroom is hardly a sterile environment.  
         “It does. But that’s much more expensive if one wants it to pack the same punch.” Besides, absorption takes longer when the GI tract is involved and Dopheld doesn’t want to give Ren any wider of a time window to get to him when he’s off the clock.  
         “Oh. Well, if cost is your concern…”  
         Dopheld shakes his head adamantly. “I don’t want you buying drugs for me. Think of your reputation if word should get out.” This way, at least the general can feign ignorance. _I didn’t know what he was doing; I never saw anything. He hid it well._  
         Instead, Hux continues with his suggestions. “I could just give you the credits and you could use them as you see fit.”  
         “No, Armitage. This has to all be on me. I won’t have you assisting me in my bad decisions.”  
         Frowning and crossing his arms, Hux asks, “If you know it’s bad, then why do it?”  
         “Because it’s better than letting him win.” Dopheld needs Ren to know that there are parts of him the knight can’t have. That at least his mind is off limits.  
         Arriving at the crux off the matter, Hux confesses, “I’m concerned that this may get out of hand.”  
         “So am I,” Dopheld admits, his lips a thin line as he concentrates on delivering the injection. “But it’s a relief to fight back, even in a potentially self-destructive manner.”  
         Hux really hadn’t expected Mitaka to be so forthright about this, but it is in the lieutenant’s nature always to be honest. That was one of the things that drew the general to him in the first place—Hux had rarely met someone so disinclined to deceit.  
         “Could we set some rules on your use?” Armitage suggests quietly.  
         Affixing a bandage strip to his elbow, Dopheld nods. “I shan’t ever report for duty under the influence.”  
         “Good. And no more than once per day?”  
         “Agreed.”  
         “You’ll let me know if you begin taking more than five milligrams at a time? Beforehand?”  
         “Yes.”  
         “Thank you.”  
         Dopheld looks over at Hux with a lazy smile. “To be honest, I thought you were going to give me an ultimatum. To either stop or move out.”  
         Shaking his head, Armitage answers, “I’d never make a threat on which I couldn’t follow through. Not with you.” As Dopheld leans against his chest, Hux reflects that this interaction represents precisely the sort of personal weakness he’s spent his adult life trying to avoid. And had he been successful, it surely would have saved him a great deal of grief. But he would’ve missed out on so much else. Besides, as much as this hurts, it still feels worthwhile. Necessary.

 

Frowning slightly as he leans forward in his chair, Hux asks Dr Ilker, “Were I to disclose something to you… that constituted a breach of the officer’s code as well as law… Would you be obligated to report it?”  
         “No, unless it put someone’s safety in direct danger. Does it?”  
         “Not at the moment.” Or does it? He trusts Dopheld not to overdose inadvertently or intentionally, trusts him to be open. Still, when he slips into bed at night, he makes sure to check his boyfriend’s breathing patterns. “And if it were to reach that point, I would be the first to report it.” Yes, of course he would. And he knows where the borderline is. Such boundaries are glaringly obvious: reporting to duty under the influence, increasing dose strength or frequency, difficulty breathing.  
         “Well, then. Now that you have my assurance to maintain confidentiality, are you about to disclose something?”  
         Collapsing backward into the chair and sighing, Hux admits, “Dopheld has started using a substance. Not one prescribed by his doctor.”  
         “Ah, I see.” Dr Ilker tents his fingers under his chin and waits.  
         “I’m not sure how he procured it, but that really isn’t relevant. Several days ago I walked in on him… preparing to take it.” He doesn’t want to let Ilker know that Dopheld is injecting. For some reason, that detail is too personal, too damning. “I’m not sure if he was going to let me know otherwise.”  
         “Did you discuss it immediately?”  
         “Somewhat. He was rather defensive. But his explanation… it’s difficult to argue with.”  
         “And what is that?”  
         “The effects of the drug protect him from Ren’s mental advances.”  
         “Oh. May I ask what the particular drug is?”  
         “It’s morphine.” Knowing how bad this sounds, he continues. “We made a deal. He promised to only take it when he’s off-duty to keep Ren out of his head. Once daily at the maximum, and he swore to inform me beforehand if he increases the dosage.”  
         Ilker can obviously sense Hux’s concern, because he simply says, “But.”  
         “But I’m worried. Dopheld isn’t in the most stable frame of mind right now. I’m concerned he may not be able to control this.” Hux has seen people happier than Dopheld lose themselves in addiction, usually to alcohol. But perhaps that descent is easier due to its greater social acceptability.  
         “What will you do if he can’t?”  
         “Disclose it to his medical team.” Of course he would.


	12. Group

“How have things been at home?” Dr Cetin asks.  
         “Oh, still a bit difficult,” Dopheld admits. “But I’m sleeping better, and snapping less at Hux. I think it’s because I’m back on duty.” He doesn’t have the stomach to tell her that Ren has been contacting him, or what he’s doing to prevent it. Because he wants to show her that he’s resilient, even if that’s embellishing the truth.  
         “That’s good. So work is…?” She waits for him to fill in the blank.  
         “A relief. A godsend.” He smiles, feeling terribly grateful that his injuries from the attack hadn’t crippled him. If he weren’t able to work—if he’d received a medical discharge… He’d probably just give up, entirely.  
         “I’m very glad to hear that, Dopheld. Have you seen Lord Ren at all?”  
         The smile vanishes. “No, not yet.” Eventually it will happen, and he doesn’t want to think about it. Doesn’t know how to prepare himself for that contingency.  
         “If that happens, and you need to talk, I want to remind you that you have my personal comm information in case of emergencies. That would certainly fit the description of an emergency.”  
         “Yes, thank you, Doctor.”  
         “So, now that you seem to be moving forward from the acute stage of recovery, I have a suggestion for you.”  
         He raises an eyebrow and takes a sip of tea. “Yes?”  
         “Group therapy.”  
         “Oh.” He pauses, processing this. “So, talking with other…” He’s about to say ‘rapees’ when Dr Cetin fills in the rest of the sentence for him.  
         “Survivors of sexual violence, yes,” She says, nodding. “There’s a group here that meets once a week.”  
         “And this would be in addition to our sessions?”  
         She nods. He groans. This whole recovery thing is eating up a great deal of his time. He wants to ask when he’ll be able to watch movies and read books. Still. “I suppose it’s worth considering,” he allows.  
         “Consider it.”  
         He gives a forced smile, thanks her as always, and heads home for the evening.  
         “How’d it go?” Hux asks, handing Dopheld his cigarette case at the doorway of their quarters.  
         As Mitaka lights up, he simply mutters, “Meh.” However, he does notice the colour on Armitage’s cheeks and the languid movement of his body and knows Hux must have masturbated while he was out. Dopheld doesn’t mind, really. He can easily list at least six reasons why he wouldn’t mind.  
         “‘Meh’? What are you, a teenager?”  
         Dopheld gives his boyfriend a quick eye-roll, which he knows doesn’t help his case any. “Dr Cetin suggested I attend group therapy.”  
         Shrugging, Hux says, “Then you should try it out.”  
         “What? You really think I should sit in a circle, raise my hand, and introduce myself with, ‘Hi, I’m Dopheld and I’ve been raped’?”  
         Hux takes him gently by the shoulders and steps closer. “Look. People attend these meetings for a reason. You may find it valuable to talk things through with other… not victims. Survivors, is it?”  
         “Did Cetin call you? To put you up to this?”  
         “Not at all, love. Don’t be so paranoid. There’s no conspiracy to strong-arm you into more therapy.”  
         “Good. That would be the lamest conspiracy in galactic history.”  
         Chuckling, Hux pulls him in for a hug. “Now, how about dinner?”

 

Mitaka has resisted group therapy for eight days now. But here he is, hands shoved deep in his pockets, head held low. He’s trying to make himself as small and inconspicuous as possible.  
         The group calls itself “Survive!” and the exclamation point at the end makes him feel sick to his stomach. He’s having trouble feeling exclamation points about much of anything these days, and he’s even less enthusiastic about having been a victim of assault.  
         As the other members funnel in one by one, he feels his heart pound at the realisation that he’s the only male in the room. Frowning, he knows instinctively that there’s no way he’ll be accepted here. Surely these women have legitimate reason to feel uncomfortable around unfamiliar men, and now he’s entered their one guaranteed safe space. Everyone else settles in to the chairs around him. He continues staring at the floor.  
         “Good evening. Since we have a new member with us today, I think we should go around the circle and introduce ourselves. First names only and no ranks or titles, please.”  
         When it comes to him, he swallows thickly and mutters, “I’m Dopheld.”  
“Hi, Dopheld,” the women chime as a chorus. He might be imagining their reticence, but he hears it nonetheless.  
Following the pattern modeled by the other participants, he adds, “And I was sexually assaulted.”  
The moderator responds, “Thank you, Dopheld, and welcome. Who would like to speak first? Yes, Terra?”  
A blonde woman in her mid-thirties has raised her hand. “I saw him again. Yesterday. And I _know_ he saw me, but he just looked right through me.”  
“How is he still here?” This question is asked by a younger woman with disgust written clear on her face. “He should be in prison.”  
The moderator treads cautiously. “Well, Marienne, most offenders don’t even see the inside of a courtroom. I mean, quick poll, ladies.” A beat passes before she adds, “And gentleman. How many of our attackers are walking free?”  
Eight hands shoot up into the air. Eight out of ten. Well, nine out of eleven counting Mitaka’s own hand. Dopheld finds this revelation enormously disconcerting; he’d figured that Ren’s powers and position of authority had granted him special reprieve. But now it’s looking as though a dearth of justice is the norm.  
“Bloody men,” spits another participant. “Think they can get away with anything. And the trouble is, most of the time they’re right.” She sighs deeply, then looks over at Dopheld. “Oh, I’m sorry.” She doesn’t sound particularly apologetic.  
The woman named Marienne speaks again, this time directly to the moderator. “What is he doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t there be a separate group for men?”  
Dopheld can’t help but raise his eyes to the young woman. He can almost taste her anger, and he’s awash in guilt for arousing it.  
The moderator steps in diplomatically. “I hear your frustration, Marienne, but the fact is that no other men have agreed to attend group therapy.”  
“Why did you?” Marienne asks him pointedly, arms folded across her chest. It seems she’s looking for a fight.  
Raising his hands in surrender, Dopheld admits, “I don’t even know. I certainly don’t want to upset anyone. I’m terribly sorry. I won’t return if you don’t want me here. But I came because my therapist and my boyfriend thought it would be a good idea.”  
Something in Marienne’s face has softened during his explanation. “Oh. You’re gay?” she asks quietly.  
“Yes.”  
         “I’m sorry.”  
         “What? Why?” he asks, looking around the circle, feeling especially lost.  
         “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! No. But. You were attacked by a man. And you like men, yeah? So you’re in a similar position to most of us. Having something you used to enjoy be turned against you, I guess. Are you having trouble with sex, you and your boyfriend?”  
         With a quick nod, he says, “Of course. I can’t… I mean, we did, once, after. A few weeks ago. But I was doped up on my anti-anxiety med, so I’m not sure how much it counts.” He carefully leaves out the part about the morphine. “I didn’t enjoy it the same as before. I did it because I wanted someone else to…” His voice fades.  
         Wiping a tear out of the corner of one eye, Marienne simply agrees, “Yeah.”  
         “I have to pre-medicate, too,” admits Terra. “With my husband.”  
         The moderator’s relief is apparent as she continues to lead the discussion. “I think we’ve stumbled on an excellent topic. Would anyone else like to share their experiences with consensual sex after their attack?”  
         A stocky woman with a kind expression raises her hand. “I’ve discovered that I like giving blowjobs. It’s very different from other things. And I can focus on pleasing my husband instead of thinking about other shit. Besides, he really likes it. He says nice things to me during and plays with my hair.”  
         “Raisa has made a good point. It can be difficult to simply carry on the way you used to, as though nothing has changed. It can be a helpful coping mechanism to make it different, try new things.”  
         Marienne turns to Mitaka and point-blank inquires, “Dopheld, have you tried topping your boyfriend?”  
         He chokes on his caf. The questions this woman asks him may cause him to need emergency care. “Ah, yes, well, we used to do that anyway.” He can’t believe he’s sharing this information, but he’s also surprised at how comfortable he feels. “We’re both versatile. Well, I was. Now I can’t exactly… perform. The meds and my mind get in the way.” He shrugs, bitterly thinking that he hasn’t had an orgasm in well over a month. “I know he’s frustrated, and I also know he wouldn’t admit it. I just… we used to… it was so bloody _good_.” A tear falls onto his lap. “That fucking bastard buggered up my relationship.”  
         “Literally,” Raisa says.  
         Dopheld shoots her a startled look before breaking into laughter.

 

After the meeting comes to a formal end, all but one of the participants hang around the room, cups of caf in hand, poking at a tray of raw vegetables. Marienne gestures at Dopheld with a piece of carrot.  
“How long has it been since your attack?” she asks him.  
Without hesitation, he answers, “Thirty two days.”  
She smiles sadly. “Still counting, huh? I did that for the first six months.” Tossing the vegetable into her mouth and chomping down, she waves him over to a more private corner. “I didn’t even report it,” she admits in a low voice. “I didn’t see the point.”  
Dopheld tilts his head to the side. “Do you mind my asking why not?”  
“I didn’t want strangers to know anything about it, and I know that’s a stupid excuse but it’s true. Besides, he’s… more important than me. I’m just an instrumentation tech.”  
“And who is he?”  
“A petty officer.” She gives him a sad little smile. “How about yours? I’m guessing he outranks you.”  
He nods. “Yes. By a great deal. But even so, I briefly thought he might see justice. After all, the EMTs took samples and I gave a report to an MP.”  
“Oh, shit,” she whistles. “It was bad enough for medics to be involved?”  
“He beat me when I made the stupid mistake of struggling. I was in hospital for two days. Fractured ribs. Lost tooth. Rectal bleeding. You know.”  
She shakes her head in horror. “Wow, that’s awful. I mean, not that it wasn’t assault, but Thanisson didn’t physically hurt me more than temporarily—”  
“Thanisson?” he asks in clear horror.  
“You know him, don’t you?”  
Mitaka nods, groans, and sits down heavily in the nearest chair. “Yes, we work on the bridge together. I just… Shit. This is far too common.”  
As if in Thanisson’s defense, she explains, “I don’t think he saw it as rape, though. I mean, we were both tipsy. And it was a date.”  
“Still not acceptable,” he declares firmly. In some neglected and confrontational corner of his mind, he’d like to press Thanisson for the young man’s take on the events, with the goal of a horrified realisation and perhaps an admission of guilt. There would be some small victory in that.  
“But if what happened to you won’t be prosecuted…” She shakes her head in wonder. “Gods, who _is_ he?”  
With a sigh, Dopheld says, “Lord Commander Kylo Ren.”  
“Oh.” She takes a step back. “Oh, I see. And I thought Thanisson was important.”  
“I suppose that abuse of station is all a matter of context. I mean, hell, my _relationship_ is technically…”  
“You’re with a superior officer?”  
He nods guiltily. “And I work closely with him, too. But that at least was given a rubber-stamp approval. We both had to have individual interviews with Personnel about our interpersonal dynamics.” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes at the memory.  
She pulls a grimace.  
“I know,” he chuckles. “It was worth it, though. It meant we could stop hiding what we were and move in together.”  
“He must be something. To be worth HR paperwork.” She reaches out and squeezes his hand. “And it sounds like he’s being real good to you.”  
“Yes,” Dopheld agrees distantly. Hux is being good. Dopheld feels less confident about himself.

 

Mitaka’s at the first of his group therapy sessions, leaving Hux alone in their quarters. It seems strange to set aside these opportunities to masturbate when Dopheld’s out, but it is easier. This way his boyfriend won’t be confronted with how much he continues to want sex. Although knowing Dopheld, he’s already plenty aware of it, and probably feels guilty for withholding this type of intimacy. Not that Hux interprets it that way; Mitaka doesn’t _owe_ him anything other than honesty.  
         Besides, Hux hates to waste water with a longer than necessary shower.  
         Turning on the wall projector, he scrolls through their personal collection. It had been Mitaka’s idea to record some of their activities, and Hux was surprised at how enthusiastic the lieutenant had been.  
         “You deserve to see how beautiful you are,” he’d insisted. “Especially when you’re having fun. Your cheeks turn pink.”  
Of course, Hux has never watched the recordings with any particular focus on himself. Although he found it’s true about the pinkness; arousal and climax cause him to visibly flush. (Not just his face, either: his neck, upper chest, inner thighs, and even arse redden as well. All of which Dopheld purportedly finds “cute.”)  
          _A on D: I through IX_  
_D on A: I through VII_  
_Flipping: I and II_  
He selects the second of the vids with Mitaka topping. He isn’t ready to watch Dopheld being fucked; Hux has a tendency to become rougher when they’re being recorded. He doesn’t want to hear some of the things he knows he’s said, even though they were appreciated at the time.  
        _(“Want me to use you?”)_  
_(“Just lie there and take it like I paid you to.”)_  
In the scene on the projector screen, Armitage is on his knees with Dopheld filling his mouth. The redhead is making the blowjob wetter and sloppier than necessary, playing up the noise for the camera. Dopheld whines quietly and gently brushes his fingertips through the general’s hair.  
After several minutes, with a light hand on Armitage’s head, the lieutenant suggests, “Bed?”  
Armitage nods with an enthusiastic smile. Dopheld opens him up, starting with his tongue before moving on to using his fingers. Then, tossing the bottle of lubricant aside, he pulls Armitage toward him by the hips and eases in.  
“How’s this?” Dopheld asks solicitously as he moves slowly, rubbing his boyfriend’s shoulders. The lieutenant is such a considerate top, making sure to regularly check in with him.  
“So good,” Armitage answers. “Deeper. All the way in, Phel.”  
Dopheld presses down on the small of Armitage’s spine, rolls his hips, and throws his head back. “Oh, hells. You’re bloody perfect. So gorgeous.”  
On the couch, Hux watches Dopheld’s lower back and arse flex while he fucks him, mesmerised by the action of his muscles. He still thinks Dopheld is the prettier of them, but he revels in the praise his lieutenant showers on him.  
Wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of a forearm, Dopheld pulls out and turns Armitage over. “Touch yourself, love,” he suggests. “I want to see it.” He slides back inside. “Stars, I’m so lucky. Thank you. Oh _Maker_ , thank you.”  
Looking up with a smile, Armitage asks, “Are you going to come in me, Phel?”  
Nodding, Dopheld says, “Eventually. Want it to last.”  
Now Hux remembers that this night had become something of a test for Mitaka. He’d never gone for more than half an hour, and he wanted to break that record on camera. Checking the video’s timestamp, Hux sees they’re at twenty five minutes since the scene began and approximately eighteen into the fuck.  
“I’m aiming for three quarters of an hour. Think you can handle that?” Mitaka asks with a challenging glint in his eyes. Since they started dating, his confidence has grown, only increasing his attractiveness. He checks his chrono.  
“Yes, I can take it.” Armitage groans. “I may be sore tomorrow, but it’ll be worth it.”  
“Yes? Will you limp around the bridge?” Dopheld teases, a half-cruel smirk playing on his lips. “Do you think anyone would imagine you’d been fucked blind by your timid lieutenant?”  
“They wouldn’t _dare_ ,” Armitage gasps, attempting to sound authoritative and failing. He just sounds breathless and happy.  
When at last Dopheld hits his goal, his sweet side reappears as it always does at times like this. “Armitage. Oh. You feel so good. Come for me. Come with me. Love you. Love you. Fuck.”  
In the present moment, Hux does come. Remembering just how good it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Group therapy  
> \- Discussion of rape and physical assault  
> \- Laughing about things that aren't funny  
> \- Watching home-made porn of a consensual and loving encounter


	13. Progression

Hux is away at his weekly session with Dr Ilker, and Dopheld is staring at the wall, about to break a solemn promise to him.  
         Because five milligrams simply isn’t cutting it anymore. He’s dosed himself daily for three weeks now, and can tell he’s developing tolerance. Five still keeps Ren mostly out of his conscious mind, but it no longer brings any additional benefit. And Dopheld craves the additional benefits. The surge of relaxation, the fuzziness of previously sharp memories, the silencing of that voice inside his head that warns him everything in his life is well on its way to collapsing.  
         Frowning at his own weakness, Dopheld draws up 0.75 millilitres, comprising 7.5 milligrams of morphine. He swears to himself that he’ll tell Hux about this when his boyfriend returns home. He doesn’t intend to break any more of his promises—and hopes to the God he no longer believes in that Armitage will forgive him this trespass of trust. Then he sinks the needle and depresses the plunger.  
         And when it hits, it’s so very good. His mind floods with pleasure, his body relaxes, and all his painful circular thoughts vanish.  
         Dopheld thinks he might be in love.  
         Can he love this and Armitage Hux at the same time?

 

Kylo blinks, snapping out of his meditative reverie as his consciousness returns to the room around him. Something has changed. His connection to Taka is relatively weak, but when they’re both on board, the lieutenant is a constant hum in the background of his mind. It’s usually white noise. But what has his back straightening in attention is a veritable flood of euphoria from the young officer. Something has very suddenly made Taka almost painfully happy.  
         The knight tunes in to it, peering across the hallway into the shared quarters that used to be Hux’s alone. Dopheld is at the desk in the bedroom, sliding a syringe out of his arm. Tears of chemically-induced joy are streaming from his eyes. He’s just increased his dose of morphine.  
         Kylo Ren will admit he doesn’t understand addiction—not psychologically or medically, anyway—but he does know single-minded obsession. He’s more than familiar with the temptation of powerful pleasure. After all, that’s what has him focusing on Mitaka. The lieutenant he’d originally only noticed because of his involvement with Hux. But then the young officer had come to live next door, and Kylo couldn’t help looking in on them. By now, he feels he knows Dopheld Mitaka better than General Hux ever could. Sweet, beautiful, dirty Taka.  
         And he feels a stab of entirely unexpected pain in his gut. It’s _pity._  
         It’s revolting.  
         This isn’t his fault, he assures himself. He didn’t purchase Mitaka’s morphine, didn’t shove a needle in his vein, didn’t order him to repeat the action every day. _No,_ he recalls—or Ben Solo recalls for him. _You shoved something else in him. And he started this to put up a barrier between us._  
         At least the man’s happy. For the moment. He reaches through the wall between them.  
_—Taka._  
         In the other room, Mitaka blinks heavily, struggling to keep his eyes open. _Why, hello, arsehole._  
_—You’re particularly high tonight,_ Ren observes.  
_—Yes. Would you deny me this one pleasure?_  
_—No,_ Ren admits. He knows he wouldn’t. He couldn’t deny Taka anything. _Enjoy your evening._  
_—Oh, I will._ Mitaka thinks it with a giddy laugh.  
         As Ren withdraws, he catches one last thought from the sweet boy he wants so badly to have again (and to keep forever).  
_—This is better than sex has ever been. With anyone._  
         Back in his own mind, the knight thinks back. All of this had started with a bored interest in Hux. Ren had been curious to know if the man enjoyed anything other than his job. Hobbies? Relationships? That’s how he’d stumbled across the lieutenant. Ren had hardly noticed him before, but once he was watching Hux in the general’s off-duty time, only a few hours had passed before he’d learned a great deal about the young man.  
         Dopheld Mitaka, age twenty four standard years. One of seven siblings in a loving but resource-strapped family. Well, his parents _had_ been loving until Dopheld’s sexual orientation had forced them to choose between their son and their religion. Still, the young man had taken the estrangement in gracious stride, although the experience had imparted to him a quiet jadedness beyond his years. Like Hux, Mitaka was sharp-minded, quick-witted, and had been top of his class at Arkanis, but unlike the general, he didn’t let it show. He’s not one for pride; he just wants to fulfill his duties to the best of his abilities. His relationship with Hux had begun almost by accident—an unplanned kiss in a locker room—but had slowly blossomed. Though Kylo had paid little attention to their emotional connection, or to the long conversations that generally preceded and followed their sexual encounters. He simply focused on the fucking. He especially enjoyed the times they’d recorded themselves, relishing every last theatrical moan that escaped Taka’s pretty lips as Hux drilled him. Each breathy expletive. The sound of flesh on flesh, of an unmistakably willing body giving pleasure to another. Surrender. Possession. And finally release.  
         And then there’d been that damn fantasy. Ren had repeatedly watched Taka imagine it, and they both jerked off to the idea together (although physically separately). Taka would be alone in some empty room, working on a vaguely defined project, when Hux would stalk in and lean against the doorway.  
         “How about it?” the general would drawl, hungrily looking Mitaka up and down. Then he’d close the distance between them, grab Taka’s hip with one hand, and pinch a nipple though his tunic with the other.  
         “Yes, sir,” would come Taka’s breathless reply. “Yes, now. Please, sir.”  
         Hux locks the door and orders, “Strip. I want you entirely naked.”  
         Taka nods and silently obeys. Hux remains in uniform, opting to simply undo his flies. He puts Taka on his knees in the corner, facing him, and fucks his mouth until he’s desperate. Silently he beckons Taka with a crooked finger to bend over a console. In the lieutenant’s imagination, no prep or lubricant is needed. Hux just slides right in and Taka’s entire body shudders.  
         “Good boy,” Hux whispers, kissing the back of Taka’s neck as he begins pistoning into him. “We should’ve done this ages ago. I’m glad I let you convince me.”  
         “Use me, sir,” Taka whimpers happily. “Oh, fuck, yes. Take whatever you want.”  
         And Ren certainly had—he’d stepped up when Hux had declined. Now he simply can’t understand what Dopheld’s problem had been. Obviously Hux hadn’t interpreted it as an act of infidelity, and the two were still together. Why couldn’t the lieutenant just relax and enjoy the encounter? Is Ren that repulsive?

 

When Hux returns home, Mitaka is too snowed under to broach the topic of tolerance. The general just looks at his boyfriend already lying on the bed, and changes into his pyjamas to join him. He listens to Dopheld snore slowly. A few times he fails to hear or sense any movement from the man in his bed, and he reaches a panicked hand out to jostle him.  
         Needless to say, Armitage doesn’t sleep well.  
         At the breakfast table, Hux coolly states, “You went to sleep early.”  
         “Yes.” And Dopheld knows this is precisely where he should explain what he did, but instead he misplaces his spine. “I was exhausted.”  
         “And you dosed yourself.”  
         “And I dosed myself,” Mitaka repeats. “Yes.”  
         Hux seems on the verge of asking something, likely about the strength of last night’s dose, but instead his shoulders relax and he nods. “I’ll see you on the bridge.” He leans down to kiss Dopheld on the forehead and heads out.  
         Once he’s alone, Dopheld collapses forward onto the table until his face is pressed against the surface. _You bloody coward._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hooray for more of Ren's POV as Mitaka's dependence devolves toward addiction.
> 
> Also, I am now on tumblr because fan fiction. Hit me up at asherephraim if you'd like to discuss SW, ships, or pharmacology.


	14. Suspicions

Hux nearly always heads out earlier than necessary in the mornings. He likes to start his shifts in his office with a second, leisurely cup of caf as he surveys his news feed and prepares for the day ahead.  
         It gives Mitaka a window. He bites his lower lip in shame, but he goes about unpacking his kit. Just half a dose—a touch over three milligrams. Enough to make him feel decent during the day. To get through. That’s all. He won’t be high; he’ll still be functional.  
         On the bridge, Hux drops by Dopheld’s console around mid-morning. “You look well,” the general comments, sounding pleasantly surprised.  
         Dopheld smiles up at him. “It’s been a productive day.”  
         The general tilts his head to one side and sneaks a quick kiss to Mitaka’s cheek. “I’m glad to hear it. You’re especially gorgeous when you’re busy and happy.” Things are going much better than he’d imagined last night. Perhaps Dopheld has just been particularly exhausted, but he must have slept well because he appears energised and relaxed now.  
         “Well, I enjoy my job and I love you.”  
         Hux wants to propose to him on the spot. _Soon enough,_ he tells himself.

 

At lunchtime, Dopheld uses the men’s washroom and while he’s drying his hands, he gazes into the mirror. He’s alone here.  
         “I’m an addict,” he states aloud quietly, trying the words out. They feel accurate, especially when he’s staring at his own dark eyes and the shadows below them. His cheeks are hollow, his lips pale and drawn. Shaking his head, he adds in a knowing whisper, “And he’s going to be so disappointed when he finds out.” Because sooner or later, Hux will find out.  
         But he knows the shame he feels will not keep him from his evening dose. Or from another in the morning, seeing as how much it’s improved today.  
         He’s chosen to skip the midday meal to have two cigarettes instead. He hasn’t been properly hungry in days, possibly a week. He tells himself he’ll just make sure to eat a larger dinner to compensate for this. But he won’t. He just adds it to the pile of lies he’s telling himself these days.  
         Taking one last quick look at himself, he repeats, “Pointless fucking junkie,” and leaves the washroom.

 

Hux watches Mitaka as he sleeps. The lieutenant is curled toward him, snoring gently. He never used to snore, or drool, either—Hux can see some moisture glistening on the man’s lower lip.  
         Reaching out to gingerly turn Dopheld over onto his back, Hux can’t help but glance at his bare arms. Despite the use of bacta patches and rotation of injection sites, he’s developing track marks. Swallowing down a wave of powerless pity, Hux leans over and kisses Dopheld’s shoulder. The young officer barely stirs.  
         “You’re using more, aren’t you?” Armitage whispers, brushing his fingertips through the lieutenant’s dark, disheveled hair. “I wish you’d told me.” Hux suspects Mitaka is ashamed, doesn’t want to burden his boyfriend, and may even be concerned that Armitage will leave him over a broken promise.   
         But Phel doesn’t need to hide from him. Because Armitage Hux, the ever critical general, reserves judgement in this one case. The circumstances are indeed extenuating. He just wants Phel to be safe, if not happy. Both would be ideal, of course.  
         He remembers when they had both, before Ren became violently obsessed. Their anniversary is coming up, two years together. Even before the attack, Hux admits the relationship hadn’t always been easy. There’d been the obnoxious paperwork with HR. Then it was Armitage’s reticence to express any significant emotion—even in the face of Dopheld’s unabashed and plainspoken love. The difficulty of speaking about their upbringings, Hux’s illegitimacy and his father’s regimented expectations, Mitaka’s provincial and highly religious background. But those had all been relatively minor obstacles, things that they could both easily see their way past together.  
         “You really ought to know I won’t leave you.” He’s never loved like this. He could forgive Dopheld anything, as long as the man continued to love him back. Frailty, trauma, addiction—all of it. Armitage could cope with never having sex again, if that’s what it took for Dopheld to heal.  
         Now he looks at Dopheld’s arms, the evidence of his growing reliance on morphine, and he has no idea what to do. Because the underlying issue isn’t addiction: it’s Ren. He’s confident that Dopheld could leave this habit behind him, but that would render him vulnerable to further mental incursions.  
         If Ren were dead…  
         But Snoke would never countenance it.  
         If Ren could learn that his advances were unwanted and damaging, would that make a difference? Hux isn’t sure whether the knight is delusional or uncaring. All he knows is that they cannot continue this way for much longer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short. Because the next chapter is likely to be rather long.


	15. Reversal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Please see warnings in the notes section at the end.

Dopheld glances up from his console, something he does at regular intervals to prevent eye strain. Instantly he can feel the blood drain from his face. His entire body goes rigid and cold. His heart thuds hollowly in his chest.  
         Because Ren is sweeping down the centre of the bridge as though he’s welcome here. He most assuredly is not.  
         Lieutenant Unamo rises from her neighbouring console and steps over to stand protectively behind Mitaka’s station. She can hear him counting under his breath.  
         “Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.” A gulping intake of air follows and he begins again. “One. Two.” His hands are balled into fists in his lap. Unamo realises he isn’t fully present. In his mind, he’s trapped somewhere alone with Ren, trying in vain to break away. She watches over Mitaka as Ren briefly speaks with Hux and then stalks back the way he came. On his path off the bridge, the knight stops mid-stride and turns to Mitaka at his console.  
_—Taka. You’re so pretty when you’re focused on your work._  
_—Please, not now. Not here. Not ever._  
_—You’re blushing. I bet you’re thinking about how good it would feel to ride me right now. I’d like to fuck you in front of Hux, to show him what he missed out on that evening. So he could learn what you enjoy. He could even go after me if he felt so inspired._  
         The stylus in Mitaka’s hand snaps in two and the pieces clatter to the floor. At first he believes Ren has done this with the Force, but he looks down at his clenched fists and realises he broke the damn thing himself.  
_—So tense, Lieutenant. I’m sure I could help you with that. Oh, you’re off tomorrow. Stop by my quarters later this evening and we can take all night. Working through your stress._  
         With that, Ren faces forward and exits.  
         “Mitaka?” Unamo asks hesitantly, watching his shoulders shake.  
         Putting a hand to his mouth, Dopheld rises from his console and bolts to the men’s lavatory. The moment the door closes behind him, he vomits onto the floor. _Couldn’t even make it to the sink. Pathetic. No self-control._ With unsteady hands, he fumbles with his comm to put in a request for a housekeeping droid. When the door opens behind him, he’s surprised at the nearly instantaneous response, but soon senses it’s a human presence.  
         He stammers an explanation. “I apologise, it must be botulism. I’m not feeling—”  
         “Phel.”  
         Turning to confirm it is in fact Hux (although no one else calls him by that nickname), he mumbles, “Oh.” He steps up to the nearest washbasin and runs the tap.  
         The general locks the door before sliding his arms around Dopheld’s waist. “What did he say to you this time?”  
         Dopheld splashes water on his face, rinses out his mouth. “He called me pretty, said he’d like to have me in front of you, then asked me to his quarters later.” He turns the faucet off to conserve water.  
         Shaking his head in disbelief and disgust, Armitage asks, “Does he think you’d want any of that?”  
         “Apparently so. He thinks I’m denying my desire for him.” At this thought, Dopheld bends over the sink, coughs turning to dry heaves. His stomach is cramping painfully, but there’s nothing left to push out, having already evacuated the few bites of breakfast he was able to swallow, as well as two cups of tea. These days his stomach is too jittery to handle caf, so he’s switched to weakly brewed black tea to avoid the discomfort of acid reflux. From his medical training, he knows he could solve this problem by eating properly, but that doesn’t seem to be a viable option anymore. So for now, he retches unproductively, hands gripping the edges of the sink, a cold sweat dripping from his brow.  
         Standing against his back, Hux holds him through it.

 

After they exit the lavatory, they pause in the corridor. Hux must be concerned, because he places a reassuring hand on the small of Dopheld’s lower back. Public affection has never come naturally to him. The redhead leans in to speak quietly. “I still have some work hanging over my head. Would it be alright with you if I finish it up in my office?”  
         “Of course.” This isn’t an infrequent occurrence, but Hux rarely asks for Mitaka’s permission to work late. But he acknowledges that things are different now and appreciates that Armitage checked in with him.  
         Hux gives him a tiny smile. “I know you’ve had a difficult day.”  
         “Yes, but that isn’t going to complete your paperwork.”  
         “Thank you for being accommodating. It shouldn’t take more than ninety minutes. We can have dinner together when I come home. I’ll make sure to order something good. Try to go easy on yourself.” He bends down again, this time to give Dopheld a brief kiss on the cheek.  
         Dopheld nods and smiles vaguely; he’s already busy thinking about what he’s going to do the instant he gets home. He needs to wash the taste of today out of his mouth. Besides, he can feel a creeping restlessness and his calves are beginning to ache. It’s been too long since his morning dose.

 

The instant he returns home, Dopheld changes into his pyjamas and lays his gear on the desk. Then he decides to brush his teeth before he proceeds, as he can still taste sour bile. Spitting into the sink, he fills half a glass with water and brings it back to the bedroom with him, sipping carefully.  
         A little bit more tonight, he thinks. He deserves it, after seeing Ren on the bridge like that. A dose and a half should set him up right. That way he won’t just avoid the knight—he’ll also feel pleasant. His standard evening dose is now ten milligrams, since the seven and a half no longer brings the haziness necessary to keep thoughts of Ren away. The lower dose is what he takes on the days Ren is off-ship on a mission. Seven point five keeps him from feeling like shit, but it doesn’t give him any additional benefit. And he recognises that this isn’t a good sign, the fact that he’s come to use even when Ren isn’t a threat and that his tolerance has evolved into dependence. When he goes too long between doses, he can feel withdrawal closing in on him in the form of irritability, aches, and chills. But he doesn’t care about that; the only thing that worries him is knowing how concerned Hux would be were he to discover the extent of this habit and the fact that he’s concealed it. Would Armitage demand he seek help? Or just be quietly disappointed? Dopheld wonders which would hurt more.  
         He’s been keeping one vial more or less obvious, removing only a portion of his doses from it. But there’s a second vial taped to the back of the desk that he draws the remainder of his hits from, and he’s moving through that supply at an increasing rate. Mitaka is regularly injecting a full dose twice a day now, and has been recently considering taking his lunch break for a third go.  
         And yes, this means that he’s clocking in to his shifts under the influence. But when the knight’s on board, there’s the constant possibility that he could appear at any moment. Mitaka has learned that he cannot work with a benzo in his system, but morphine he can handle. Still, he despises himself for this weakness.  
         He draws up fifteen milligrams and pushes it quickly. Even though he knows maximum effect takes half an hour to set in, at seventeen minutes he gives himself another five. Well, a tad more, since the backup vial is nearly empty anyway. No use wasting it.  
         Nearly instantaneously he can tell this is too much. His breathing rate slows to a crawl, but he isn’t concerned by it—even though he identifies it as respiratory depression. He just isn’t thirsty for air. Doesn’t need it. Doesn’t need anything but morphine and Hux. Lying back on the couch, he closes his eyes. Hux. Hux will be back soon. Dopheld will rest up until then. Everything’s blissfully quiet for once, and he needs to take advantage of that. All the things pressing down on him are lifting up and falling away. Suddenly there’s enough free room in his mind to remember it’s their anniversary, and he realises that’s why Armitage was talking about dinner together. The general probably had something nice planned for the two of them. To celebrate two years as a couple.  
         And here Mitaka is, lying across the couch like an invalid, spaced out of his skull. He may not even be able to eat tonight, with the narcotic layered on top of his earlier nausea. Eating has become a challenge at baseline; the lieutenant has lost several kilos since the attack, but he can’t find the motivation to weigh himself and find out exactly how much.  
          _—Taka. It was lovely seeing you today. The invitation still stands for this evening._  
_—Piss off. You don’t like me this way, remember?_  
_—Something’s wrong._  
         So many things are wrong, Dopheld wouldn’t know where to start. But he decides to begin the list with the obvious. _Yes, thanks to you._  
        _—No. With you. You’re fading._  
_—Will you miss me?_ he wonders with a dazed smile. _I won’t. Miss me, that is._ Shrugging mentally, Dopheld drifts off and away. Ren may or may not be still talking.

Hux’s comm rattles against his desk. Expecting it to be Dopheld, he examines the message.

> _**KR:** Hux. Something is the matter with Mitaka._   
>  _**AH:** Nothing you didn’t cause, Ren._   
>  _**KR:** Listen to me. He needs help. Now._   
>  _**AH:** Are you there with him, you monster?_   
>  _**KR:** No. He’s alone in your quarters. Go._

         Shaking his head in anger and shock at this interaction ending in an order, Hux pushes his chair back and stands. He’d rather have heard this from anyone other than Ren, but that doesn’t negate the fact that if Dopheld needs him for anything, he’s already on his way.  
         Making it to their quarters in a record twelve minutes, he strides into the living room and sees the figure draped carelessly across the couch as though asleep. Except Mitaka doesn’t sleep on the couch and he never sprawls out like this. He simply isn’t the sort.  
         At the unexpected sight, Hux’s heart skips a beat before resuming to lurch forward at a sickening pace. Mitaka’s face is pale, his whole body peculiarly still. Hux has seen enough corpses to spot one from across a room. And right now, Dopheld Mitaka looks lifeless.  
         “Shit, shit, shit,” Hux hears himself utter on helpless repeat as he rushes over the lieutenant. “Dopheld?” he asks, too quietly, as something seems to be caught in his throat. “Dopheld Mitaka.” Hux raises his voice and authoritatively shouts, “Lieutenant Mitaka!” He shakes the man by the shoulders as firmly as he dares. Mitaka’s head lolls loosely on his neck. Hux places a flat palm above Dopheld’s mouth and nose, feels no breath, and leans over him to listen closely.  
         There. It’s weak and slow, but Mitaka is still breathing. Hux just hadn’t waited long enough to feel it on his hand.  
         “Dopheld,” he shouts. And again, “Dopheld!” Pinching the back of the lieutenant’s hand sharply and receiving no response (not even a reflexive twitch), he delivers an order. “Stay with me, you bastard.” He grabs his comm to page EMS and tries to recall what he’s supposed to do next, if he ever knew.  
         Blaster wounds. Cardiac arrest. Electrocution. Spinal cord injury. He knows basic life support measures for those instances. But not for a drug overdose. It wasn’t in his training. Officers don’t use substances. Except when they do, and then it seems no one knows how to handle it. Well, Mitaka would know what to do. Of course he would.  
         “If you can hear me, Phel, don’t go anywhere,” he pleads in a shaky voice. “Don’t you fucking dare.” Unsure what practical use such a threat might serve, he blinks back tears. Stupid, sentimental words tumble out of his mouth. “You want to know something, Phel?” he murmurs, cupping the man’s cool cheek in a hand. “Since this is our anniversary, from long before all this shit, I was planning on proposing to you tonight. I have rings, in case you said yes.” He caresses Dopheld’s face, entirely oblivious of the tears streaming down his own. “I still want to marry you, I just don’t know what you need from me now.” Especially if this had been on purpose—and part of Hux wouldn’t blame Dopheld should that be the case. “But please, just stay.”  
         The medics arrive, bypassing security and stepping into the room. There are three of them, two men and a woman. Hux stands up and backs away from the couch, giving the professionals room to do their job.  
         The younger man asks, “What happened?”  
         “I arrived home about eight minutes ago and found him like this.”  
         “How long has he been unresponsive?” the medic asks as he helps the other lift Mitaka from the couch and place him on the floor. The woman is busy with the supply kit, laying out various instruments to have at hand.  
         “Not sure. Somewhere between fifteen and forty minutes. I just returned from my office.”  
         Now the female medic begins reading out Mitaka’s vital signs. “Temp: 35.4. Pressure is 87 over 58.” A long pause follows while she counts. “Only six respirations per minute, and they’re shallow. Pulse: 46, regular but thready. O2 sats are 74% on room air. He’s in ARD.”  
         Hux tries to guess what those letters stand for. He glances up at the ceiling as though that might help. When he looks back, they’re fitting an oxygen mask onto Dopheld’s face.  
         “Any idea what caused it?” the younger man asks.  
         “Yes,” Hux admits, then pauses guiltily. But they’ll find out sooner or later, and the sooner the better for Dopheld’s health. “He’s been using morphine.” He walks to the desk and opens the drawer, hands a mostly empty vial to one of the technicians. There’s still a bead of liquid inside, and Hux feels a small spark of hope that this indicates it wasn’t a suicide attempt.  
         Meanwhile, the burlier male medic turns Mitaka’s arms over to inspect them. He lets out a low whistle at the array of visible punctures. “Shit.” The woman reaches into her kit and removes a syringe. She holds it out, but the older man shakes his head. “Intranasal. Not sure we can a good line in fast enough.” The woman unscrews the needle and places an adapter onto the barrel hub, then passes the device down.  
         Tilting Mitaka’s chin up, the medic squeezes half the syringe’s contents into each nostril. Then he replaces the mask. They wait. The entire room waits.  
         The lieutenant’s eyelids slam open and he gasps for air. He claws at the man straddling him and quickly finds his voice. “Off! Off!” he shouts in a panic, arms flailing.  
         “Name, rank, and serial number?”  
         Hux strides over to intervene. “Please get off him,” he says gently. “He’s been attacked recently and doesn’t need a reminder.”  
         The medic nods and shifts his position to sit on the floor beside Mitaka. “Name, rank, serial number?”  
         “Dopheld Mitaka,” he pants now that he can focus on answering. “Lieutenant First Class. Cresh-91-842-68.”  
         “Do you know what happened, Lieutenant?”  
         “I… Oh, bloody hell.” He takes in the presence of the medics before groaning and staring over at the floor. “I overdosed, didn’t I?” His jumpy gaze seems to purposefully avoid landing on Hux.  
         “It would appear so.”  
         Mitaka begins to shake. “And you reversed it. So he’ll be back now. Inside my head.”  
         All three medics turn to Hux for interpretation. “His… attacker… has certain… powers.”  
         “Ren?” the woman asks with a visible shudder.  
         Dopheld swallows at the pronunciation of that name. “When he’s on board, he waits for my shift to end. I have to rush here to… dose myself. Before he gets inside my thoughts.”  
         “And narcotics keep him out?” she asks with a tilt of her head.  
         Hux speaks up. “Not precisely. But apparently he doesn’t enjoy the way Mitaka’s mind feels when it’s drugged.” Suddenly he understands the sequence of tonight’s events. The knight must have attempted to contact Dopheld and found the lieutenant less responsive than usual. If Ren had actually left Mitaka alone for once, Hux would still be in his office. For perhaps another thirty to forty five minutes. Would the lieutenant have ceased breathing entirely by then?  
         “This is a very unusual situation.”  
         “Drug use to fend off psychic attacks? Yes, I imagine so.”  
         “How do you feel, Lieutenant?”  
         Dopheld laughs sadly. “Honestly? Like utter shit. But naloxone does that.”  
         The medic nods. “Yes. Instantaneous withdrawal is very unpleasant. And I’m sorry, but you’ll need to come with us.”  
         “Yes, of course. I understand.” His voice is flat with resignation. “I may need another few doses anyway.” Finally glancing up at Hux, he explains, “The antidote wears off faster than morphine. So it may just be temporarily holding the overdose at bay.” This is the first time he’s acknowledged the general since his revival, and he appears uncomfortable, almost shy, addressing him. Turning back to the medics, he says, “I think I can walk, though.”  
         “Protocol is to transport you on a stretcher or wheelchair.”  
         Sighing quietly in acquiescence, Dopheld murmurs, “Ah. Well. I won’t argue. Can I at least have the chair?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Additional tags:  
> -Drug overdose


	16. Withdrawal

After Mitaka’s intake, Hux finds himself sharing a cigarette break in a designated smoking area alongside the female medic who had attended to Dopheld.  
         Looking over at him a bit shyly, she asks, “May I speak freely, sir?”  
         “Please, it’s Hux for the moment. Right now I’m just Dopheld’s boyfriend. So of course you may speak freely.”  
         “I was there after his attack. I’ve responded to sexual assaults before, but that was the worst. Physically speaking, at least.”  
         He nods. “I saw the photographic documentation.”  
         “I don’t judge him for drugging himself, not after that. Even if… _Lord_ Ren wasn’t still in contact with him.” With the way she voices his title, it sounds as though she’d love to strip him of his rank and slap cuffs around his wrists.  
         “Neither do I. But perhaps that contributed to the problem. I knew about it, and I hardly protested. I probably shouldn’t have let him use at home.” He knows he shouldn’t have done, but Dopheld had seemed determined to go ahead—and Armitage had only wanted to remain by his side, however lost and useless he’d felt there.  
         “If he really wanted to, he woulda just done it elsewhere, by himself.” Catching his surprised glance, she continues. “I’ve got two siblings with addiction. One to alcohol, one to tar. Turns out the tough love strategy don’t really work. Folks who shoot up alone are more likely to overdose, and to die from it. The numbers don’t lie.” She inhales a dose of smoke and adds, “You did him a favour by sticking round.”  
         “Unless he doesn’t want to live.” There’s a part of Armitage that bleakly thinks that if Dopheld wanted to kill himself, perhaps that would be for the best. Not for him, of course—just for Phel. And right now, he only cares about the man he was set to propose marriage to tonight.  
         “He used to be a medic, didn’t he?”  
         “Yes, at the Academy.” The highest-performing cadets at Arkanis had been expected to take on supplemental courses to round out their education. Hux had chosen engineering, Mitaka had selected emergency combat medicine. Supposedly it was to mold them into more useful leaders; Hux always suspected it was intended to further challenge them. More than a few had experienced complete mental breakdowns at the time. Just another form of winnowing the harvest.  
         “In that case, I’d say that if he’d wanted to die, he’d a gone and done it.”  
         Because he’d know how to go about it. Yes, he decides she has a point. “What is ARD?” he asks. It’s the sort of question he likes asking Dopheld, because his boyfriend has a way of sitting up straighter and smiling shyly when given the opportunity to teach Hux something.  
         “Acute Respiratory Distress. Basically another term for resp failure. Opiates work against the drive to breathe.”  
         “So his body just… forgot it needed air?”  
         She nods quickly. “Pretty much, yeah.”  
         “How close to death was he?” Hux asks, bracing himself for an honest answer.  
         “I’m not a doctor, but maybe half an hour. It’s a good thing you came home when you did.”  
         Quietly, he discloses, “It’s our anniversary.”  
         “I’m real sorry.”  
         “As am I.” But being sorry fixes precisely nothing. He stubs out his cigarette and heads back inside. Mitaka requires two more doses of the antidote before the morphine works its way out of his system. Hux stays with him through the night—it is their anniversary, after all—though neither of them sleeps properly. They don’t talk. Hux knows they should, but he also knows they’re exhausted. What’s more important now? Words or sleep?  
         Before he leaves for the bridge in the morning, Hux promises to himself that he’ll confer with Dr Taisabi. About what comes next, whatever that may be.

 

The doctor peers into the room and his face falls, as though he was hoping to find a mistake in the overnight admission report. “General,” he whispers, noting that Dopheld is resting somewhat peacefully.  
         “Doctor,” Hux replies.  
         “Could we talk in my office before you head out?”  
         “Of course.” After tucking the edge of the blanket beneath Mitaka’s shoulder, Armitage follows Taisabi out of the room.  
         “So. I just arrived and haven’t yet read the full admission report. But I have noticed he’s lost weight,” the physician mentions.  
         “Yes.” Hux waits. Really, Dopheld’s weight seems to be a minor issue among many. Knowing that opiates suppress the appetite, he’s sure that if Dopheld were to get clean, he’d start back eating properly.  
         Taisabi doesn’t let go of the subject that easily. “Significantly. When we discharged him he weighed 75 kilos. Now he’s down to 68.5.”  
          _That much?_ How had Hux managed to miss such a dramatic loss? “Oh,” he observes uselessly. Perhaps living with Mitaka, seeing him every day, he simply hadn’t added up all the gradual changes in front of him. Still, he should have caught on.  
         “Has he been eating?”  
         “Apparently not,” the general says a little snappishly. He’s going to be an absolute joy to work with today. Combing back through recent memory, he adds, “He takes meals twice a day like he always used to. But he sort of pushes the food around, spends his time rearranging it. Instead of putting it in his mouth.”  
         Taisabi nods, incorporating this information into his care plan. “We’ll work on that. I’ll put him on a nutrient-rich diet for the time being. Anyway, I don’t want to keep you, so I’ll get right to the heart of the matter. Do you know why he started using?”  
         Hux nods. “Yes. His attacker has continued to harass him.”  
         “Sending messages?”  
         The general clears his throat. “Yes. Starting a few weeks after Mitaka’s discharge from here, Lord Ren took to speaking with him directly. Into his mind, that is.” Upper lip curling, he adds, “He’s usually masturbating at the time, projecting his interpretation of the attack.”  
         Taisabi looks aghast and covers his mouth with the back of a hand. “That’s appalling.”  
         “It is. Since he had a bit of a reprieve after the rape, Mitaka eventually figured out why. It turns out that Ren doesn’t appreciate… _conversing_ with him when he’s drugged.”  
         Shaking his head, Taisabi knocks back the rest of the steaming caf in his mug. “So it would seem his disordered use of the morphine is secondary to attempting to shield himself.”  
         “Yes. Although I believe he came to rely not just on the refuge it provided, but the pleasure as well. I know he’s had precious little of that recently.” For at least the thousandth time, Armitage Hux wonders how many things he could have done differently. How he could have been more emotionally present those first few days and weeks, made himself more available for the support Dopheld so obviously needed. Instead he’d distanced himself, avoided conversations and physical touch, telling himself that was what his boyfriend wanted—when in fact it had been Armitage once again withdrawing from the responsibilities inherent in adult relationships.  
         “I hate to ask, but was there anything specific that precipitated last night’s overdose?”  
         “Ren visited the bridge yesterday, and apparently took it upon himself to secretly proposition Dopheld on-duty. I found him vomiting in the lavatory.” Shaking his head, Hux remembers, “He apologised for being sick. He always apologises for things that aren’t his fault.” Hux should be the one apologising for not murdering Ren the instant they were alone together after the attack. Direct orders from the Supreme Leader be damned; he ought to have meaningfully defended the most important person in his life.  
         Voice betraying no shortage of horror, Taisabi quietly inquires, “And there’s nothing we could do to, say, have Lord Ren executed?”  
         “Unfortunately not. Lord Ren is too important to face justice.” Hux is reminded of a concept in the civilian finance world, of corporations deemed too big to fail. The problem is that the strain of propping up such institutions can bring entire economic sectors down with them. He tries not to speculate as to how much Ren’s unchecked power could weigh down the First Order. “Is there anything else? I’ll be back as soon as I can get away this evening.” Other than the bridge, he has nowhere else to be.

 

 

 

> _**KR:** How is he?_  
>  _**AH:** He’s stable. I suppose I should thank you for doing one decent thing and alerting me to the situation._  
>  _**KR:** Was it that bad, then?_  
>  _**AH:** Another half-hour and he’d likely have died._

         Ren hisses at the shock of how close they’d come to losing such a beautiful boy. There aren’t enough of them to go around in the first place. Using his connection to Mitaka, Ren checks in on him in Medical. Even though he maintains enough distance to keep from startling the man with his presence, he’s instantly inundated by wave upon wave of misery.  
  _(Failure. Weak. Utterly useless.)_  
         Repressing his urge to try to comfort the lieutenant, Kylo simply listens for once.  
        _(Worthless damn junkie. What good are you now? All you had left was your career and Hux. Now you’ve thrown the first and pushed the second away.)_  
         Kylo gasps at the ensuing choking fear of a dishonourable discharge.  
        _(I’ll lose my pension. I’ll be alone. Even if Armitage doesn’t leave me, I won’t be able to live with him. I’ll be all alone, just me and my awful memories and my destructive thoughts.)_  
         The knight frowns—surely Hux won’t leave him for having psychiatric problems. Besides, Mitaka must have family somewhere.  
_(My parents would never take me back in unless I agreed to conversion therapy. That was the deal, after all. Otherwise, I’ll remain dead to them. They even had a fucking wake. “In memoriam of Dopheld Mitaka, age fifteen standard years. Taken from us by the sins of this universe.”)_  
         Holy shit; that’s what happened? Kylo had vaguely known that Mitaka was estranged from his parents, perhaps even kicked out of his home for homosexual acts. But he’d never imagined this level of cruelty. By refusing to deny a part of him he hadn’t even chosen, Dopheld had lost family, all but one friend, his entire community. He’s been cast adrift before—no wonder he’s terrified of going through it again.  
        _(Perhaps I could go back. If Hux leaves. Return with my head bowed and the Good Book in my hands. “Forgive me, I’m such a sinner. Now an addict as well as an invert.” Hell, might as well be chemically castrated. Not like I’m using those parts anyway.)_  
         Kylo can feel the tears running down Mitaka’s face as though they’re his own.  
  _(I should have done the sensible thing and died on the fucking couch.)_  
         Withdrawing from the tumult of the young man’s mind, the knight finds he’s shedding tears to mirror Dopheld’s.  
          _Fuck, Ren, look at the damage you’ve done._  
         He doesn’t even have the energy to tell Ben to go to Hell.


	17. This Mess

Hux tries to spend as much of the day sequestered in his office as possible. He knows he’s sleep deprived and tetchy, and doesn’t wish to take it out on his team.  
         He drafts several memoranda but doesn’t send any. There’s a considerable possibility that his wording today is far from diplomatic, and they can all wait at least a few more cycles. He decides to set them aside until he’s significantly less edgy. No sense in causing unnecessary offence.  
         Phasma must notice that he’s holed himself away, because she seeks him out and pounds at his door with an armoured fist.  
         Over the intercom, he informs her, “There’s a button beside the door for a reason, Captain.”  
         “Shove it, General. Just let me in.”  
         He does, buzzing the lock open without further comment. She strides in and unceremoniously deposits her helmet on his desk. “So,” Hux opens.  
         “So, indeed. What the hell is going on with you today?”  
         Tapping his stylus against the desktop, he says, “You may have noted Mitaka’s absence from the bridge.”  
         “Yes. It’s his eighth day. He wasn’t scheduled.”  
         Blinking, Hux remembers this is in fact the case. Which means he’d forgotten. He may actually be close to losing it. “Yes. Well. He’s also back in Medical.”  
         “Oh.” Heavily, she sinks into the chair. “What happened?”  
         Clearing his throat, he mutters, “It really isn’t my place to share. He’s physically stable.”  
         “And un-physically?”  
         “Ah. That’s the tricky part. He’s in some sort of acute…” He gestures vaguely with the stylus in the air. “Thing.” Frowning briefly, he continues. “I believe it’s what people used to call a breakdown.”  
         “Shit. Hux. How are you?”  
         Startled by the question, he stares at her helplessly. He wasn’t expecting anyone to check on him. “Tired,” he admits. Pointing to the cup on his desk, he says, “That’s my seventh caf so far this shift. I didn’t sleep last night.”  
         “You should take the rest of the day off.”  
         Shaking his head, he says, “I need a break from Medical.”  
         “No,” she clarifies. “Go home and get some sleep.”  
         He waves at his desk. “I have so many things to do here.”  
         She cocks her head and gives him a critical look. “And are you being particularly productive at the moment?”  
         His brow furrows. He’s drafted the memos and approved a few budgetary line items. But that was all completed in the first two hours since he arrived in his office. Since then he’s accomplished very little.  
         Phasma takes his silence as admission that she’s made a valid point. “You’ll be paged if you’re needed. I promise.”  
         “Are you… dismissing me?” he asks in disbelief.  
         “Hm,” she murmurs, reflecting. “I suppose I am. So get out of here, take a Cafex, and get your scrawny ass into bed. You’ll be notified if the bridge goes up in flames without your fire-retardant presence.”  
         It’s a testament to his exhaustion, the fact that he quits protesting. Standing slowly, he gripes, “My arse is not scrawny. It is appropriately sized for my frame.”  
         “For your scrawny frame.”  
         He flashes her a smile, relieved to find a moment of humour today. “Now get out of my office before I lock you in here by yourself so you can reflect on your insubordinate language.”  
         They exit together, then go their separate ways.  
         Oddly enough, once he’s home, it takes very little effort for him to set his alerts to Emergency Only, pop a caffeine blocker, and crawl into bed.  
         Hours later, Hux wakes as he always does, almost instantly. But he stays in bed for a while, gathering his strength to visit Dopheld. As if to remind himself what his relationship used to look like, he reaches for his personal tablet and opens his photograph collection.  
17,802 pictures of Dopheld Mitaka. It began as a project to catalogue his new boyfriend’s beauty, to examine his startlingly different appearances in different lights. Innocent, tense, debauched, relaxed, but always so bloody handsome.  
         He wonders whom he’ll see in Medical. Will Phel be sedated? Depressed? Anxious? Or just exhausted?  
         But Armitage shouldn’t waste time speculating. He leaves the bed and dresses, leaves to find out.

 

 

Dopheld hears the knock on his door but doesn’t even consider responding to it. The person goes ahead and enters quietly. There was no point in asking his permission, anyway—he has no control over what goes on here. It’s for the best, surely.  
         “Lieutenant? Are you awake?”  
         He lets out a sigh in answer. Knowing he ought to feel gratitude for the care he’s receiving, ought to at least _speak_ , still isn’t sufficient.  
         “I came to ask what you’d like for lunch, sir.”  
         Finally, he turns in his bed to face the orderly. “Really?” he asks in a quiet, flat voice. His intonation is blank; he sounds more droid than human. “Lunch?”  
         “Yes, sir.”  
         Dopheld blinks a few times. “You know why I’m here, right?”  
         “Well… Yes, sir.”  
         He summarises anyway. “I overdosed on morphine, to which I’ve become addicted. And I’m not sure whether I’m pleased that the medics revived me. But you want to know my opinions on lunch.”  
         Standing her ground despite the crestfallen expression on her face, the orderly nods. “Yes, Lieutenant.”  
         “I have no opinions or feelings about lunch. Whatsoever. I doubt I’ll be hungry anyway.”  
         “Will soup and a sandwich do, sir?” she asks weakly.  
         As she leaves, Dopheld knows that he should feel ashamed of the way he treated the young woman. But it doesn’t sink in, not in any significant way. It’s just one more thing with which to berate himself. Another failure to add to the rapidly growing pile. So he turns onto his right side and resumes staring through the wall into the empty space inside himself.

 

 

“How is he holding up?” Hux asks after he’s taken the seat across from Taisabi’s desk.  
         “Not especially well.” Sighing, Taisabi explains, “It’s my assessment that Dopheld is in an acute depressive episode. He’s hardly left his bed or spoken today.”  
         “Is he in withdrawal?”  
         “Only minimally. We’ve given him a muscle relaxant, a fever reducer, and a central sympathetic blocker. That package helps with the aches, chills, and sweats that typically occur with opiate detoxification. But in the meantime we’ve switched him to methadone and we’ll titrate off it slowly because I want to minimise the risk of precipitating more of a psychiatric crisis. That’s a danger with full-blown withdrawal for anyone, but Mitaka is at increased risk due to his recent trauma.”  
         “How long will the entire detoxification process take?” the general asks, because he doesn’t know what else to say.  
         “All in all, probably four weeks.”  
         Hux balks at this estimate.  
         “But if he’s otherwise stable, we certainly won’t keep him that long. Best case scenario, just a few more days here.”  
         Hux can read between the lines. Worst case scenario: Mitaka will be committed for the entire time. Perhaps longer, if his mood never stabilises.  
         “How far from stable is he today?”  
         “He’s been having difficulty responding to our questions, or making even simple decisions. For illustration, let me show you a video clip from this morning’s rounds.”

> _“How are you feeling today, Lieutenant Mitaka?” the painfully young resident inquires._  
>  _Slowly, Mitaka flips over in the bed to turn his back on the team. “Bloody awful,” he grumbles before pulling the sheet over his head._  
>  _“Would you like to talk about it?”_  
>  _A strangled sob escapes from beneath the covers._  
>  _“Lieutenant?”_  
>  _More crying sounds follow, then silence. Eventually the team members shrug at one another and leave the room._

         When the recording ends, Hux nods conclusively, surprised at how easy this choice is. Mitaka may despise him for it later, but the general goes ahead. “If you feel he is unable to make informed decisions about his care, as his proxy, I am willing to do so for him.”  
         “Thank you, General.”  
         “Just tell me what and where I need to sign.”  
         “I’ll have the paperwork drawn up in the next few hours.”

 

 

Hux doesn’t knock, doesn’t even greet Dopheld once he’s inside the room. He simply takes a seat at the foot of the lieutenant’s bed and places a light hand on his ankle. “About yesterday,” he begins, watching Dopheld’s face tense, then give in.  
         “Yes.”  
         “Did you intend to die?”  
         “No, not specifically, I think. All I know is that I want this to stop. I don’t want to be an addict anymore, but I haven’t the strength to deal with it otherwise.” He rubs a hand over his bleary eyes. “I’m so tired and weak.”  
         Hux reaches over and squeezes Mitaka’s hand in reassurance. “You don’t need to be strong all the time, Phel. You’re allowed to break a little.”  
         “A lot,” Dopheld corrects.  
         “Fine. A lot.” He leans in to kiss Dopheld’s cheek. “I need to tell you something.” A slight pause as he gathers his words. “I’ve taken over the decisions for your care.”  
         “Oh. I see. I’ve been deemed incompetent.”  
         “There were concerns,” Hux states vaguely.  
         “No, it’s fine. I’m being honest. I know I’m not competent. Competent people don’t OD. Competent people don’t have trouble deciding whether they’re pleased to be alive.”  
         Hux nods, for some reason finding Dopheld’s admission and acceptance sadder than the argument he’d been expecting. “It’s only temporary.”  
         Dopheld smiles thinly. “Thank you. Thank you for being responsible.” Oddly, he looks relieved.  
         “All you have to do now is rest.”  
         “But first,” Mitaka begins nervously. Despite the methadone, muscle relaxant, and adrenergic blocker, he still feels dread at the disclosure he’s about to make.  
         “Yes?”  
         “I need to tell you something.” He straightens up in bed, preparing for his confession. “The promises I made to you about the morphine. I broke every last one.”  
         Hux bites at his lower lip. He’d suspected as much, but hadn’t dared demand the truth. Because that would’ve required decisions from him.  
         “I started taking more over a month ago. Then began taking half a dose in the morning. Before reporting to duty.”  
         The general nods curtly. Dopheld doesn’t need his anger or his disappointment right now; he’ll deal with those feelings in private for the time being.  
         “I know I’ve let you down. If it’s any consolation, I’m an infinite disappointment to myself.”  
         That statement, more than anything else, breaks Armitage Hux’s heart. Dopheld is still trying to be perfect. “You haven’t disappointed me. You just scared the shit out of me.” He sighs. “For now, you need to rest.”  
         “I can’t—not without—” Dopheld blinks tears out of his eyes, causing them to spill down his cheekbones. “I need to know.”  
         “Know what?”  
         “Are you leaving me?” Dopheld asks, his voice thin and fragile.  
         “Stars, Phel. No.” He stands to kiss Mitaka’s cheeks, to clear them of tears. The gesture is futile, of course, but he still makes it. Once Dopheld’s hiccoughing sobs have quieted, Hux begins to ask a question. “Are you…” Here he has to gulp before he’s able to continue. “Are you sorry that you’re alive?” He’s afraid of the answer, but he needs to know how bad the situation truly is.  
         Dopheld frowns, unsure how to answer. It was one thing to unload onto the unsuspecting orderly—after all, he’s not in a relationship with her. This is different. He has always endeavoured to be honest with Hux, but he doesn’t want to hurt him unnecessarily. “Somewhat. More so than not.” Because he wants to say, _Yes, I’m sorry I’m breathing. I wish the medics hadn’t arrived in time. I wish you were mourning me now, not comforting me._  
         “Oh, Maker. Dopheld.” The general sits on the end of the bed, blinking furiously.  
         Witnessing Hux’s struggle, Lieutenant Mitaka finds tears on his own face. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I don’t want to be like this. I want to be grateful that I survived the attack and the overdose.”  
         “But you’re not,” Hux says, staring blankly at the opposite wall.  
         Minutely, Dopheld shakes his head. “No. I’m just… numb. Although I hate myself for what I’ve put you through.”  
         “You bastard.”  
         “What?” the lieutenant asks, blinking, startled.  
         Voice rising despite all his resolutions to remain calm, Hux shouts, “Stop that! Stop judging yourself so harshly for the toll this has taken on you! These impossible standards you hold yourself to… They aren’t doing either of us any favours. Has this been difficult for me? Of _course_ it fucking has. But I’m in it for _you_ , Phel! It’s all always been for you.”  
         Dopheld chokes on his tears. Suddenly, he’s overwhelmed with a feeling that isn’t self-disgust or shame. Sitting up fully, he leans against Hux’s body.  
         The general puts an arm around Mitaka’s bony shoulders. “Because you’re worth it, you bloody fool.”  
         For the first time in weeks, Dopheld suspects he may be able to get through this.

 

 

They sit like that in silence for over half an hour before dinner arrives and Mitaka speaks again. “Why did you stop taking pictures of me?” Dopheld asks suddenly, setting aside his protein shake.  
         “Ah. I… I guess...” Hux’s brow wrinkles as he searches for the right parallel. “I didn’t want to feel like one of those embedded photographers in war zones. The ones who turn the trauma of others into journalism or art.”  
         The fine muscles around Dopheld’s eyes relax. “Oh. I was afraid it was because you didn’t want to really see me.”  
         “No, Phel.” Reaching out to grasp Mitaka’s hand, he explains. “I wish you hadn’t been going through any of it, but I wanted to be there every moment, not hiding behind a camera. I’m sorry I did such a poor job communicating that.”  
         “If… if you’d like to start back in, I wouldn’t mind.”  
         Hux gives him a tiny smile. “I would. Actually, I was looking over some of my pictures this afternoon.”  
         “At work?” Mitaka asks sceptically.  
         “No. I took the afternoon off. Phasma insisted.”  
         “I, um, I have another question. Did you talk to me, when I was on the couch forgetting to breathe?”  
         “Yes.”  
         “You didn’t happen to… ah…” Here he takes a moment to clear his throat before proceeding. “ _Propose marriage_ to me, did you?”  
         “Perhaps,” Hux allows mysteriously.  
         “Was that just a dramatic gesture to a potentially dying man?”  
         “Not at all. I had it planned months ago. I have rings.”  
         Mitaka looks down at himself in disgust. At least he’s wearing proper clothes instead of a hospital gown. “You… want to marry this? This mess?”  
         “If the mess is named Dopheld Mitaka, then yes.”  
         “Oh, dear.”  
         If Hux didn’t know any better, he’d think this sounded like the Dopheld he used to know. The one he’d impulsively kissed after a sparring session. The one he’d invited to live with him. And although he isn’t certain that he fully knows the Dopheld currently sitting up in a hospital bed, Hux has no doubts that he loves him.  
         “Yes. I will. Just, not right away. I’d like to be… a bit better first.”  
         “Of course. Thank you.” He blinks, pleased with the response but disappointed in the circumstances surrounding it. The psych unit isn’t where Mitaka was supposed to accept his proposal. That ought to have happened after an exquisitely fancy dinner and been followed by a prolonged lovemaking session. “If you’d like, I’ll bring the rings by in the morning.”  
         Smiling shyly, Dopheld says, “Yes, I’d like that.”  
         Hux pulls his comm out of the greatcoat on the back of his chair. “Could I take a few pictures now?” he asks, gesturing with the device. “Right after you agreed to marry me?”  
         Sniffling a bit, Mitaka wipes the tears from his cheeks and nods enthusiastically. “Yes. And make sure you caption it ‘my fiancé.’”  
         “I prefer ‘intended.’”  
         Rolling his eyes, Dopheld mutters, “Then why not ‘betrothed’? Maker, Armitage, for a gay man you can be so old-fashioned sometimes.”  
         “I appreciate what you’re willing to put up with.”  
         “Should I take up embroidery while I’m detoxing?” the lieutenant suggests with a wicked look in his eyes. “For my hope chest?”  
         “If you’d like, my love.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one half of a double-feature posting extravaganza. Together with the final chapter of "Meridan," these two postings share a theme. If you're the first to guess the theme correctly (via posted comment on either story), I will draw you a simple picture of your choice. Warning: I do not draw in any traditional sense of the word.


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